your lament breaking
from the bricks stranded
I lean out of the
window prepared to
open my ear to
the song of sirens
yet all I see is
the sadness of you
breathing in the dust
we keep praying to
setting the houses
aquiver shaking
heaving caving in

how to warm one’s hands

Wandering this desert of
green fields and roaming rivers,
these barren lands you’ve come to
loathe but now you have returned
to, there’s still not much I can
respect you for and even
less admire.

These hands that reached for the hearth
behind your hardness have gone
unrewarded all these times,
until your eye was struck with
blindness and even now there
is not much to go by.

Yet to be left like you are now –
even you do not deserve this.

how to warm one’s hands