As a foot falls
and a floorboard creaks,
the weight of a moment –
a life disperses along the joists,
and in small compressions
the cinderblock walls,
carrying the load of construct,
dispenses a foot, a fall, a moment,
a life into a packed and drifted crust,
striped with husk and epoch.
And is the iron churn –
deep,
centered,
magnetic,
disturbed by this foot,
this fall, this moment?
We may wish upon the core
of things some great resounding
impact. But there is no other sound
than the floorboard creak,
as we crush down upon the balls
of our feet, our own vague gravities,
strung out along the joists,
softened in the cinder walls,
then muted in the husk.
This is what I heard today,
after the alarm, after the coffeepot
gurgled down its final steeping,
as I sought to engender not a sound,
not a thought, for you were gently sleeping.
Image: Francisco Galarza on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 
I think this is a really interesting mini-saga, creating such a huge role for the floor board – which for me means one more plane, one more affirmation of the tributaries of rich rivers, one more world woven into another. Thanks for the read!
Pectaylor
Thanks, Peter,
Happy to see you here. What a wonderful surprise after my sip of coffee in the morning.
D