leaving

i am

knots falling for a sweet child, who can't speak, who can't see. you are redder than a lobster, in those stripes, surprised. we laugh and then run away, into the bushes, like frightened rodents. we hide, we wait for the rain, we wait for the night. the night comes, and goes. the flames die. now the house is cold, unoccupied. who will come here next and what will they find? we tried to leave the place undamaged, we tried to clean it up. but how does one account for all that has been done? how does one ignore the hideous marks of past disaster, the scars on the floor and walls, the evidence of suffering.

where do you go on the eve of winter?