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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