old news:part one (formerly untitled)

she sinks into her crisis.
easy. with abandon.
always it is like this.
she slips and shivers to the bottom
of some unnamed black pond
(with a surface like glass
slick without movement or life)

i am the one who watches her.
always.
every time.
the movement is the same
so are the moments leading up to it.

i am the reflection
a copy
the pale projection of light
onto a night sky of clouds.
the signaling disaster.

you find me there.
every time.
always.

i am standing at the edge.
barefoot in the snow.
i am watching the water.

you pick me up and carry me inside.
your breath on my shoulders
(i am not much of anything
by the time you put me to bed.)

the usual ghosts are rattling up and down
the halls.
coughing or cursing.

when you finally sleep
(you pace so much more these days)
those ghosts, our ghosts,
spill through the cracks
placing their hands over my eyes

they sing to me softly.