Maggie, is that you?
Lake house
I feel so glacial
inside of your architecture
it’s like you don’t know me at all
sometimes
the window doesn’t let in much light
as if we were always destined to meet each other
in the dark
taking cover
the fire gone out
not a dry eye in the house
but underneath
a crust of snow
new planets align
and fall short of every last one
of our expectations.
James Diaz, a writer and an activist, lives in upstate New York. His previous publications can be found in Chronogram, Cheap Pop Lit, Ditch, Pismire and Collective Exile.