Untitled poem

I write it all down. The yearning. The silence. The neighbors stepping outside for a cigarette. It is all here. The ghosts. The nobility. The dishes piled by the sink. Nothing escapes me. Not the times. The dust. Or the uncertainty. I start over. I exinguish their cigarettes. Clear the dishes. And reassure myself. I write it all down. Until you find your way in.

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