The lilac bushes shimmer in the evening light, the elms send down their pods of spinning rain. When was the last time that you’ve eaten? You are good at going under. No one ever sees you weep. Where others shift into survival, a shining place. You dive down deep. To sigh the world its shape, to slip beyond desire into the evidence of everything that seams, you’ve heard the ringing all around, despite the unclasping of these flowers, the earth opening its outstretched palms as if to plea, the purple loosestrife sprawls along the rail road tracks. You drive down to the lake, the rising of the wind, the dark approaching clouds. There is no slamming of the door. It is a quiet drown. There is never nothing loud.