I’ve Been to Your House More Times than You
a quiet alarm, your parents’ house
a walk that ends in standing by your drunk brother
a speech delivered in the night to the long driveway
I’ve never been inside your study, an unevent
the kind I prefer
a visit scented like wet pavement
a neighbor we could not see for the rows of spruce
I drank from the pillow left outside, the one with your face
on the bottom
I like to land where it’s soft
