You see, the key turns in the lock like this, the way a knife fits in the cutting block. Husband, I know you still keep that torn sketch of her garden before the terrace collapsed, the old bill of sale from inside our fireproof box.
You don’t even remember her given name, or the way ice gathered on the roof of that greenhouse in spite of the heat.
Another door thrown open, another room opening inside what I thought was a single room. What I meant was, I wanted what’s just short of a mansion, because it’s going to cost money to warm all this empty space.
(It goes without saying there aren’t any windows, so you have no choice but to imagine what’s on the other side of that wall--)
Husband, the little stream that runs beneath this house is deep, when you finally break its clean white surface, I hope you drown