Aperture

The 'For Rent' sign is taped to the glass,

curled at the corners by the sun.

From the sidewalk, the room looks hollow,

a mouth that's forgotten the taste of salt.

But the crack is still there,

a jagged lightning bolt in the pane

where I pressed my hot face

to watch the streetlights flicker on.

It’s a miracle the wind hasn't pushed it through,

that thin, sharp split

holding the whole house together.