Ropes, chains, hardened clay
Strewn about, green-lawn, dusted
Over with a year’s worth of
Soot, excrement of wind, mud

It is too hot to stand
Still, restless footsteps, crushed blades
Of grass, burnt yellow in the
Day, the coughing, sweating day

Your stance, not so romantic, bent
Over hand to knee, dripping wet
And letting the hot dirt into your
Nose, sucking, looking for cool

It is empty, totally gone and
It is a maddening shimmer
In the inescapable warmth,
A passive, un-lived reflection

That house, means so much
To you, and as I creak the
Stairs with tentative footsteps,
I am utterly, violently, red