HOW MY GRANDFATHER FELL

A body becomes spacious like an empty room

Suspended in the fumes of alcohol.

It wags as if a house is trying

So hard to hold its door from slapping

Against the wind, or as if a paper is trying to say

Too many holes are littered into its skin.

This is a body caught in the amber liquid

Of a sad wine, pale like carrions of old bodies.

This is a body holding out a breath like little owls

Gasping on an old carrion, it smells of a body

Intoxicated in an old whiskey.

I have always wanted to say my grandfather

Is a faint half-lit candle burning in a graveyard,

—His body is a graveyard in between solitude & divorce

—His body wobbles into a dim flecks of light

Like a hand reaching out for its old self through a mirror

And then everything stumbles into a loud silence, into debrises.