The woman's eyes gleam like a glacier, the blue of a lineage of butchers

The man's eyes are pits of coal.

​

Tonight again, I will answer the call, with counted steps,

with shallow breaths and veins of linen.

​

They broke Dorothea's arm in the blue room last week. I heard it snap over the music.

She opened her eyes and mouth to the fullest extent, but she didn't scream.

​

There's so much pain in this house I fear it has poisoned the rock upon which it was built.

In a hundred years a man will walk by the window and the hair will stand on the back of his neck.