When the house stands empty, the rooms disgorged Of all the crumpled laundry daily life imposes How conditional our maundering sorrows seem, 5 Another routine, like sleep and death, Engaging our restless spirits As soccer in Brazil, the overnight weather, 10 The uninhabited chair, weighted with fringes, That stares in the leaning mirror morbidly Or the dirty shovel that leans in the garage, A little old and uselessly, by a mended fishnet.
From the collection "Constellations in December"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.