let's not be embarrassed every time

the stars are lamps
of lost miners
the tunnel feels empty
sending ahead canary light

old folks
carry away living memory
just put my finger on
that missing thing at the estate sale
when the house smell is finally layered away
that's the last of it

so the world tuns inside
out and
they buried so many
under the ground
victims, victors
also nazis, bolsheviks
with eyes like
something that has
burned at a high temperature
a fine
white ash

you will see it turning out of the sky
where the faint silver veins
and fault lines lie

snow that filled the
evening like bullets of
gentler gods
bends down morning boughs

cold reaches through the window
like a handshake
well met, tomorrow
remind me of your name
let's not be embarrassed every time