Back to the Land

I keep finding your voice  

caught in the teeth of the radiator  

as if the heat knows you by name.  

The curtains sway  

like they’ve been drinking all night  

and can no longer keep secrets.  

I fold my hands the way someone  

might hold a map in the dark, 

waiting for a country  

that doesn’t know they exists.  

Outside, rain moves through the air, 

dragging a wet light  

across the face of every building,  

like it is blessing or punishing something  

I can’t see.