On the bad days,
We open all the windows in the house—
Let the autumn air fall upon our floorboards
Rising like machine-made smoke blurring the ground
Beneath us. 
                      Underneath 
Heated blankets we curl against each other
On the couch
And watch the familiar.

Someone is burning leaves in our neighborhood
As the chauffeur’s daughter closes the 
Garage doors and 
                      one by one 
turns the ignition of each car.
 
I look at you.
You are already asleep, head
Diagonal and downwards, ready
To be carried back up to your room
                       to cry. 

I look at the moon,
And wonder when I'll ever stop reaching.

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