Structural Integrity

The pen rolled under the radiator’s teeth

so I leaned down to find what was lost underneath.

My knee gave a crack like a dry winter bough,

a sound that my body didn't use to allow.

I stayed on the floor for a minute or two

watching the dust and the way the light grew.

My hand on the table was corded and blue,

with veins like a map that I never quite drew.

It’s a slow-motion heist, this theft of the frame,

where nothing is broken but nothing’s the same.

You wake up one morning and find that the lease

is up on the parts that once moved with such ease.