After disconnection

This old house has grown
since the debris of a life
was carted away by strangers
and the clocks had stopped. Only dust

finds renewal here, and after once
sweeping these empty halls
I find I must do it again
and again. Still the past returns

to haunt this staircase
where once those who had fallen
in love trod lightly
for fear of waking the dead.

There is no slaking this thirst.
Copper pipes rattle like coughs
but nothing comes from them now,
just a cold, rasping wind.