with his legs crossed

like a blade on a razor

he wants to feel something

anything at all.

the closed window divides

the inside from the outside—

inside, sweet potatoes cooking

on a forgotten fire

outside, rain falling

on a girl riding a scooty

away from him

on a shoeflower blowing pollen

away from him

on a stray starved dog uncurling

away from him.

the window is in the mirror

and the rain is in the window.

he uncrosses his unholy legs

wonders, do they feel something

anything at all?

the mirror asks, can the far eyes see

how far my eyes can see?

the window asks the window opposite

will you open for me even if you knew

i won't open unless there's a fire

and i'm the only escape.

the rain says in a many-voiced monologue

i am riding my pollen wagging my tail.

smell, the primalest feeling of an end

finds the forgotten fire burning the house down

stalking evasive memory.

he opens the window— the sill screams

as the opening fingers a comet streak

through its puzzle of settled dust.

even the smoke escapes

climbing the ropes of rain.

water falls as community.

that dog laps up the puddle

and gets sick, wheezes

then dies, like a dog dies. 

~ ajay

7/7/2022