somewhere there is a way in
this house is empty
.
there are plants that don't fill it
,
there are pictures nailed up
that only sag the wall
,
there is a chair and a couch
and a bed
,
it is still empty in here
,
and it pulls
like water going down the drain
.
I try to go with it
I feel I must
,
to be splayed open
to myself
past all this
,
past snapshots on the fridge
past bending book shelves
past all the saviors I have set up
to wrap warm and safe
.
somewhere else there is an entry point
,
somewhere there is a way in
.