(no subject)

[nverland]

Domestic
by Mark Irwin

December, and it would be a Saturday, some milk
out for the cat, as the long grey evening expires with snow.
He would read, and she would color,
her face pressed right up
against the window of the paper. What does she
see?—Her little heart one joy as the crayon-thick sun
pours yellow out onto the green trees
and large white box, beneath whose triangular hat
they will argue, love, dream, fight, and grow
up in. House. The very word's
a breathing out of so much
breathing in, —a book, a brain,
a wild brilliance of light trying to comprehend the dark air.