The Palace of Bones

After the Parade

After the Parade Outside it is blank and hungry as winter. Children are waiting, always, For the clowns and soldiers to return. That craving, As if we need to breathe The breath of the birds, As if the people we love are too far Away to know how to save us. Our fingertips burn on their faces. The sky moves closer to the earth. These strange moths wait For hours outside the windows like friends. When I let them in they sleep On the walls, their wings full of secrets. By morning, they are dead. Their limp, bloodless wings lie across the floor Among the dust and human footprints. I am careful not to step on them. There must be a scent in the house, Something dense and without grace, Pressed between the walls 20 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. And the pages of books that kills them. They must have wanted more Than they needed, entering this house Trying to be human, or to even bother Knowing what it is that humans do. Though we are just as reckless. We too wander like thieves Into windows, far from the places We are most comfortable. 21 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. ...