Spoken

what might they have said
two silhouettes standing
in the snow
beneath the bare moon
the farmhouse chimney
puffing smoke as still as clouds
maybe
the children are asleep
maybe
where’s the grocery money
maybe
how could you drink it away
maybe
he never says anything
back
he forgot the Christmas tree
a case is in the backseat
where I was created
his head, always toward the ground,
his shoulders defeated
what might they have said
beneath the cold moon
maybe
I love you
but I don’t see how

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