STUDY BEGINNING ON A BEDROOM CEILING
The way the wooden beams slope down
from the home’s divided center;
the way the fan hangs untouchable, still,
a display from some future museum;
the way the elaborate curtains hide
the yard behind the house from eyes
too focused on an old book about everything;
the way the grass was once green, now
saturated with night; the way there is no moon;
the way the train’s whistle interrupts
the silence of cicadas’ static; the way it is early
October in Texas; the way the child sleeps
heavily in the next room, nowhere near
the particular moment; the way the moment
is now inseparable from the child,
the child inseparable from the ceiling.
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