Ants

Another episode of something

echoes through the space.

Full volume.

Empty walls and cold surfaces,

a place you made.

Leaving room.

The garden through the glass divide

is painfully alive. On this side

you set down poison for ants.

Your choices are an ache,

there for so long,

you’d only know it if it left.

Would you miss it then?

Or would it be another thing

you left behind?

Dust hangs

in light that stretches,

reaching.

Another day, another day, another day.

The ants keep coming.