Cottage of Sodom and Gomorrah
He apparently cried the entire winter
All alone from the inside
By the side of our lake
We didn’t know
He wept from his broken pipes
Beds couches book cases wall paintings
Picture windows filled with sunrises
Sodom and Gomorrah drown
In fountains of cold
Skirted with ceiling-high black mold
True
I had glanced back late last fall
With thirty years of memories and love
My disobedience to God answered
I suppose
We always thought there’d be one more summer.
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