the night that the fire claimed Santa Rosita, only a little bit over the mountain from our house,
you kept me up for hours talking in your sleep.
how could things be so muddled?

that old love, the love that our grandparents carried around like bags through an endless airport,
the love that was supposed to grow up scarred and wise like a young boy into a man,
that old promise of love faded into fable.
i watched you clutch at the pillows, a dream ransacking your mind.
and there i remained, in a room of cold water, an ocean slowly saturating the bed.
i could just get up and walk to shore.
i could just go and open the door.