Leaking

Above the light fixture, the ceiling is sick,

blooming a map of a coast I don’t know.

The neighbor’s bath water is heavy and thick,

pressing down hard on the drywall below.

It’s a salt-crusted yellow, a jagged-edge ring,

cracking the plaster in delicate lines.

I lie here and wait for the drip it might bring,

counting the nights by these porous designs.