We’d join the meteorites of life:
The points of light, the dying tails.
The “thing” and then the “consequence”,
The reasons why it might make sense.
Each move we’d make we’d need some more:
Another shelf, another chair,
Another clothes rail for the shirts,
Another crater for our hopes.
We’d join the panels, find the slots,
The pins and dowels, the creaking locks.
Then gravity would pull them in:
Our fallen stars, our lifetime’s things.
The drawers might stick, the mirrors crack,
And once they’ve gone, there’s no way back.