Involuntary

The furnace died an hour ago,

and the house is settling into its

frame. The neighbor’s dog has ceased to go

after the ghosts without a name.

I’m buried deep beneath the sheets,

listening for a car out on the road.

But all I hear is the steady beats

of a heart carrying a heavy

load.

It sounds like a saw against a knot,

the pull and the push of a mechanical

lung. I’m counting the seconds that I’ve got

and the bitter taste on my tongue.