from one eye

i'm going back because i have to.
because somewhere in that city,
the electric cables strung me up above the trees in gallows.
because i've hidden part of myself there underneath stones,
and in puddles where cigarettes are suspended.

and because i heard it whisper to me,
through the fog and condensation
dripping down the window sill
above our heads one morning
when we both felt grey and still and sick.

it didn't tell me to stay,
it told me to come back.
and when i left,
it kicked the drain pipes and radiators
and licked the city with two weeks of rain.

i'm going back
because a box elder bug came with me.
it survived the winter in our house and crawled
in between what it could.

i'm going back
because at the bottom of the well,
there is a face i've never seen before.