Crucial early bark
to learn, like dat?
Or no! The wooden ball
rolled & stalled
beneath the piano,
the tiny playhouse window
you’re half-inside
& out of.
O, confit of second hands,
minutes, hours,
years presaging
what’s to come—
snagged zipper moments:
a body struck in flight
by diagnosis or lead-shot,
the slug of partly-chewed-
whatever lodged,
mid-laugh, in windpipe,
a cluster eff of want
& grief you can’t
escape from. It is night
in that movie, love.
But still day here.
Call out. I’ll hear.