future homes

i used to want to sleep boat-like in a channel 
between two dead islands. squeeze light bulbs like lemons
& brush the filaments from my chest. on the side of the highway 
a wreckage is removed, leaving only glass. 
in our house we'll have a room dedicated to memory.
walls stripped bare. enough space to spread out 
any loose ends. sometimes i braid the hair i don't have.
go to the hardware store & purchase every single door.
an exit is the most crucial part of a living room.
in the library you'll have your shelves & i'll have mine 
but after years of loving the shelves will mix 
until we use poetry as a recipes. eating sonnets
on a deck. the porch swing gaining wings with age.
to crave domesticity is maybe to crave death.
not in the morbid way with a hearse but in the way
rocks learn not to breathe. i want a predictable affair
with the windowsill. curtains to smell & worry.
a tea kettle prone to hovering. in your old apartment
the kitchen always smelled like meat. i washed my hands
in the fern pot. you moved your car. i laid
on the speckled carpet. sometimes i hire construction men
to lay hard wood floor across my heart. they come with
staple guns & lilies. the lilies are because
they are in love with me. when you're not around
i wear doorknobs as necklaces. ask strangers 
if they want to turn & open. i shuck my life open
every year or so just to see its red then 
i shut it closed & weep. in our house
the bed room keep you & i shielded from 
all the can openers & trip wires. i will
kiss your neck & you will not turn to ice.
there will be a window that opens easy 
as an eyelid. flutter open. the cars driving by
on a sunday when everything is rolling over.
your shoulders. please want me like a blueprint
& not like the mailbox. oh enough from me.
a fire engine whirls across the moon with nothing
at all to say to us. 

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