No Proof

Cold was blowing in from somewhere,

warmth was whimpering not to leave,

and the wind was prying secrets

from between the rotting eaves.

The wind was prying secrets 

from between the rotting eaves. 

You were pouring out the milk jug.

It had spoiled while we slept.

Hibernation has some side effects --

only some will make you retch.

Stay you grateful for the rest, though

stay you wary it’s the last.

Stay you terrified the future’s

carbon smudges of the past.

I stood cleated on the ladder

to repair the season’s harm.

What’s another fifty fucking nails

and another pail of tar?

Another goddamn dripping thing of tar. 

You were quiet in a pile of leaves

that gathered to your chin.

I tugged a marionette heartstring

to lift your heavy lids.

To lift, lift, lift, lift, lift your heavy lids. 

And the eyes that climbed the rungs to me

were greyer than I’ve seen

even any other winter,

and you slumped like cheap sateen.

Slumping cheap sateen. 

Stay you grateful for the rest, though

stay you wary it’s the last.

Stay you terrified the future’s

carbon smudges of the past.

Well, I took my time returning

to the ground from on the roof.

You say I made no effort.

I say you have no proof.

No vision and no proof.

There is always more cold coming.

There is always sleep to need.

There is always milk that’s spoiling

for you to pour on me.

Stay you grateful for the rest, though

stay you wary it’s the last.

Stay you terrified the future’s

carbon smudges of the past.