A bird is nesting in my shoe. My straw hat is nowhere to be found.

Little people live on my roof. I wonder how they stay dry?

The washing machine is exploding. Dirty laundry is blowing up in her face.

She cartwheels down the staircase shouting, "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay!"

He stops. She does not. Now there is a lake between them.

The wet plate sits near the sink for days. Also near the sink is the drying rack.

Are there too many windows, or too many neighbors?

He tiptoes around her; he doesn't pretend that he doesn't. The floor mourns.

She spends all of her time hiding. She spends no time being found.

After the sin, he looks the same. She loves him the same too.

The wolf is chewing the moon. Dawn shudders beneath the dew.

The man wants the bird. The bird wants the bread. The bread wants back into the loaf.

What? Nothing. What? Nothing.
This is the evening conversation.

After she finds her missing piece, she dumps it.

If only her therapist did not know her friends.

This is not her house. This is not her family. Still, she hides in their closet.

He stops. She does not. Now there is a continent between them.