is fragility beyond flesh,
where silence is the flame
dancing in the fireplace, warming the face;
where mourning dictates the pace,
the movement of things,
the stillness of clocks,
and cracks on the wall creeping.
There is no room
for a misstep that can see him
tumbling down the staircase
of reminiscence, hitting his head
against the floor whose planks are memories,
thud making moments
collapse, creating a gaping hole
where there is no room
—no room at all—
for his chest
& its rise &
fall.
