What Will I Do Without?

The end came. Nothing tasted right after. Ginger
sat down beside me on the porch and asked why they look like
crashes. The trees looked like crashes. Warm for February.
Owls at night. They made me not sleep. Bits of black stuff
in the screen door. Darling, I said, darling let’s sit like this forever.
What’d I mean forever. Like, till August. Sure, till August.
I’ll step in to cook. Break the meat with a spoon.
Fancy my fingers, in the stuff. Ginger another one. Why’d we hang on
so long? Like a forest. All full, all sighing. All breaking and none
for the ground. Long smell of mud where the furrows
cut through the lawn to the shed.