Final Renovation

We brought down
what hunger put up,
stripped it down to naked wood and skin.
With carpet blades
and finger nails
we tore a time that never should have been.

We carried out
a three year's sleep,
cigarettes and silence from the walls.
It's written still
in punctured palms
but that is all forgetful flesh recalls.

And you
are older now than ever,
slower now to savor every breath.
You say
There's always something bigger
but living on a linger isn't death.

We let in
an indian summer wind,
spiralling a dust cloud in the sun.
You stepped in
and swirled along
to tell me that a new day had begun.

We brought up
a new veneer,
cyan white as carefree as the sky.
I closed the door,
left you there
to whisper your good riddance and goodbye.

And you, more beautiful than ever,
led me out to indian summer glow.
You said
I will never hear it,
but I leave a better story when I go.