we whispered in cabinets
hid in their permanent–
as–scars crevices like
tiny doorjambs,
like baby deer all crooked
and crammed.

we touched moonstones
like they were ointment for
bike-knees and bee-stings

peeked into drawers like
lungs were inside and that’s
where the breathing in there
came from.

all we found were
tree seeds and
ashes from pompeii.