I woke up in a closet.

Lake Exhaustion

The sound of empty when no one is listening,
And the haul against the nerves
That tugs from the other end
Which builds a snow room to keep you in.

I want to keep you in between my thumb and forefinger around a match
I strike against your teeth

To light the streetlamps in the hilly park at night:
The stars – much closer to earth –
Because they are closer to exploding.
At night we swam across a lake to our new home.
I thatched bamboo into a roof to hear the rain dribble
Through it onto our skulls thick with electricity.

My hands charged as we slept,
And in the morning I ground teacups to make coffee.