There's a big void in your heart


Part 47 of the 66-part series called "moon photos"

and you paper over it like a hole in the wall
you punched through that one time, remember?
Only you don’t remember why you punched
the wall or what you were doing there or how
it was looking at you. Or maybe you do remember
how it was looking at you, yellow and flowered
and nicotine-stained. And there was a window
nearby, and it was open and a breeze blew in
from the ocean, you think, it smelled like salt.
Or maybe that was the blood on your knuckles
after you punched that hole into the black
underneath part of the wall, the space between
the studs where nothing was but air and space
and a brooding darkness. Like chambers
in the heart, only the wall doesn’t move
except when it settles, slowly, over the years,
with light groans and shiftings. Maybe
after all it is alive, just much slower than you.
After all this time, maybe the wall is hurting too.