you write stories sometimes and sometimes I am in them
I want to write on each thing in your house that I know and

trying to hold our shelters together paste from
the paper the stone and the blood in my mouth

soon we will stare at the same things and eachother

because the holes are too big our damn fingers in them
two coats on the back of the man who is praying
and by now we have seen so many storms coming

Poem by Sarah Renée Berstch