Wrist's New Note

Woke up this morning

and the left wrist,

just below the palm,

sang a new song.

A sharp, thin wire

strung tight

between bone and skin.

No fall, no twist,

no story to tell.

Just there.

A sudden, clear message

from the temporary house.

A new tenant, maybe,

moving in.

And turning the doorknob,

a small, careful hesitation.

The body,

a rented room,

its owner

sending notice.