No one to hear but 
Records for the broken player.
No reason for order but order 
persists, from breakfast to bath 
to work, rain falling at one speed,
the windows darkening and blurring,
accident beating against belief.
A loud engine, which is one way to say 
one thing. The floors swept daily, 
though it takes at least one hour for the first,
one for the last.  In the pages of a book,
quick studies of gesture,
tents of hands.

Copyright © 2005 by Saskia Hamilton. From Divide These. Used with permission of Graywolf Press.