*
You can’t hold back this knob
already resistant to sunlight
filling your lungs
the way all the firewood on Earth
waits in these clouds
as cries and ruin
and though the sky is aging
you hurry through, each breath
weak in the doorway
covers it with a lid
half lit, half spreading out
to open, close and you
are breathing for two, the air
given some mist
to find its way home.