dirt

November passed
and the seeds we planted
never grew

the dirt became cold
and dark
and the sky turned blue
but without reassurance

just the swirling of colors
in an empty bottomless field

I let the wind whip around me
but it took advantage
of my still nature
the servile tendencies of my bones
to ache and bend
and crack at night
and give way to deficiency
and nakedness
and loss

until I was spinning in circles
and falling over
and stumbling forwards
in some nameless kitchen
with some nameless linoleum floor
pressing my fingers against
the soiled walls
and searching for flowers
in the cabinet corners

I found only dust
and empty porcelain bowls
and remnants of food
eaten months ago
years ago
now moldy and green
and turning everything
grey