of the new plants

there are more to be seen, every time i go home,
a non-empty void that finds new corners 
and crevices, different shades of green in different 

spots, pots lined, one stretch of scenery 
holding a television screen that no one looks at 
any more, just a wall beautified for the sake 

of the occasional guest who drops in to see what has kept 
this couple happy and together for twenty-five years now. 
they find these organisms necessary to pump air 

into the house, where even the occasional intakes 
from the regulator, strapped to the door of the house, 
that at one time was meant only for emergencies, doesn’t 

stop them and me from panting. there are louder noises 
to be heard, every time i go home. even the slightest 
voice raised, reverberates from these walls that have 

never had anything strike them before, finds 
its house in my ear, in my balled up fists and the air 
breaks as the tears well up at the sound, then cease 

to exist in this reality where nothing is ever addressed, 
is forgotten like the plants in the balcony. only a lucky 
few have flourished, grown little ones and weeds 

of their own, the rest burned away, untended.