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When people do not have a killing ability within themselves they ask gravity to do the work instead. Gravity lives in rocks. People fill the bag with rocks and kittens. Or if you are Virginia Woolf it is rocks in your pockets. I wonder if she thought rocks or stones.
Stanzas are rooms, they say. A paragraph, too? I look for the doors. There is very little time. Mostly there is winter and long nights and snow.
Crying is its own nakedness and to see both kinds at once elicits a panic of pity. This is why people offer handkerchiefs to each other; it is an act of care, a restoration of dignity, a small instruction to get dressed.
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