We’re a vow to an empty area, the sector’s
dropseed dropping, the sector damage from solar,
the millstream stitching the evenings one
to the subsequent, the wheel turning with it
to open each seam. Regular. This mill
is empty, its home windows lengthy since sealed
for the final time, palms ash that wrapped
round these boards. I’ve been counting
the birds left within the rafters, the sunshine
sorting via the roof, and the stones within the river
hold stumbling previous my attain. This tune of fragments
opens, falters. I do know of nails and sandpaper,
saws and rivets; nonetheless, the pine boards hold splitting,
the wheel comes aside. The millstream freezes
and breaks once more. How the water shatters. Love,
I’ve been which means to let you know in regards to the birds
within the area past our home, how they swell
and fray and settle as I go, how I’ve
by no means made sense of issues like this, that collect,
that break up on my each step.