DiaBLOGue

All our dinner smells have long since mixed with the wind.
Our voices echoed down these halls receding 
by halves with every reverb 
till even now, if our ears were small enough, 
we might hear them tumble back to us 
softer than dandelion fur. 

If you get snowed in, locked into your home 
so long the food runs out, 
I suggest peeling the walls to find the mice, 
or scouring the attics for nests, for beehives. 

It’s hard to balance 
the pads of your feet on a railing. 
He hadn’t thought of that 
until just now, 
with the sound of water 
skirting below him. 

As my head rests 
on your sleeping back 
I begin to question 
certain laws of nature 
and the actual shape 
of the Earth. 

He is, perhaps, the same god as the God of Big Things,
but not meant to be worshipped or to run your life,
only to annoy you or not annoy you, 
whichever the script calls for.