The underworld, a dark hallway littered with debris.

The bedroom, where they always return.

Small window, quilted spread, long mirror.

All spaces are enclosed.

Where a man and a woman come in and out, very quickly: a departure.

Where a woman re-enters: a transitional space.

A man creates a space, but refuses to live in it.

A woman occupies the space, because she remembers inhabiting it as a child.

If she had treated him differently, would she have noticed that he was not an angel?

This was what existed: the robins on the edge of the pond.

This was how it ended: the centipede caught in a rug.

This is how it evolved: the faucet running down brick.

Is it a question of what’s dead?

The ecstasy of saints is the realization that they are water.