I pull the dirtied string, the window nude,
Stripping left blind higher, faster than right.
Space well-hidden between homes exposes
A tree stuck thin between the house cracks.
Laughter unleashed into streets, hyenas
Howling at the moon from the pavement.
A year ago my laugh was with these above,
Our sound in unison with pitch and tone.
It is a song best sung together. But now
Depression sings the taste of sour grapes.
Here, dried fruit falls from vines onto the floor,
Ants circling around the concord spheres.
I can still hear those laughs from here. Yet
If I push myself, it’s only back to sleep.