Verse by @rae.voss

the birds do not know we broke up every train sounds like leaving from here i wore your city like a borrowed coat the church bell is just a bell on tuesdays

the sea does not remember any of our names i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries we are all somebody else's weather i buried the argument in the yard

the cold got into the bones of the house the sea does not remember any of our names the tape hissed where your voice should be i am learning to be a room with the curtains open

the floorboards keep the score i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands the map was wrong but the walking was right i wore your city like a borrowed coat

you never asked and i never stopped answering i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand i speak to the version of you that listens every train sounds like leaving from here

i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand summer left its fingerprints on the glass the kettle screams and i let it