the tower (the news)

Some days no one else lives in 
the tower, while on yet other 
days it’s brimming over with
parading cavalcades of visitors; 

inhabitants who would rather 
knock the walls searching for 
news than hear melodic and 
refrain the remnant of what’s

gone; it confuses them and her– 
they know she likes to tell them 
stories– and some may wonder 
whether she ascribes the dead 
a passion better lent the living, 

conflating objects of desire with 
the gift of giving grief its second 
chance to spare her no quarter; 
rather pin me to the ground but 

while you’re gone I hear such
resounding elegies of footsteps
down the hall and voices could 
be anyone in another room when

down the way outside early in 
the morning other lives will pass
us as if our motion made alive
the reason we decide to call one 

person our whole body, when 
clearly there is more than me