The truth is I measure cracks.
A life spent in measuring cracks
is not understood,
walls, floors, ceilings are easy
but then there are sidewalk cracks
that depend upon my mothers back.
Cracks are big in my mothers world.
Inches of space are big in my world.
To see them everywhere
in the uncertitude of future events.
Hairlines in bones
are mercies of unknowing.
A life spent measuring cracks
means you live alone
in small rooms.
Boxes of pressure.
The street you walk on is
moving by unfelt forces
and the three ravens flying overhead