house

I have been reading "Six Dynasties" poetry, and am experimenting with the tropes. We could also call this "On the Perils of Being an Unexpected Subject".

if someone was weeping they
did not weep for me
if her chambers were empty
her hanging scent
did not hang in my nose

there is no one hovering
over their parchment
no pen set finally down
no unfinished letter

if I scrawled a song
in the dusty air
it came to no ears
in a town far away

if I shaped mud
I caught no one's spirit
in the curves of the earth

I am free, then, myself,
walking or sinking
my bones in the sun
are stones, oddly arranged

cobbles in the roadway
with no one to hold
the strings of my ligaments
I must build a house
of myself, wherever I go to
it will then lie empty
when I have gone