Paul Dickey

Breaking Into Unlocked Hearts

He enters by the bedroom window
that in loneliness, he theorizes,
she may have forgotten to close.
A radio is on, and lights that would
be off, were someone at home.

He carries a knife, finds the book
she was reading when she fell asleep,
studies what she has left of dinner.
The oven is left on. Dear, you
should take better care of yourself.

He has to take something. Cheap rings
on her vanity will not do. He is
falling in love. She might surprise
him from the vestibule. Her bedroom
is the neighborhood where he

has wanted to live all of his life.
They will sleep inside the purple
suburb past dawn, direct
the black and white choreography
of their children at breakfast time.


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