Stairs

Hairs splitting and boots knocking on tile
Cold with the first falls of autumn
Men made of barley knock on thick, wooden doors
Behind which our teeth chatter incessantly
On grape seeds and tomato pills

Fabric striped stretches between shoulder
Blades numb with impassion

She goes down the stairs one at a time
Same as always, dust puffs up
Beneath her heels spiders and crickets run

The ingrown follicles of a million words
Dot your tongue like thick taste buds
Scarlet stems struggling to sprout from each of them

Away from the tree in which I've built
My home erect against hurricane winds
But roots brittle, starved for salivating
A crow's nest atop its limbs from where
I can watch you leave the stairs