Jack-In-The-Box

He’s missing 
before we get our words out he’s gone
absent nowhere to be seen

even present was invisible a scent a waft
wandering through the rooms
a vibration in the turn of a door handle

or the fall of a hammer least expected

mutely we look around
ask approval most of all advice
knowing this won’t translate

his is a new language
the old useless
where he’s gone

we find ourselves in a world held together
fastened glued patterns arrangements
clever ingenious

his second tongue
he understood how the spring coiled itself under pressure
its mouth biting on the small burr

fingers and thumb of one hand
holding it all together
a jack-in-the-box squeezed into that studied moment

perhaps he will rise again
when we light the stove
twist its automatic ignition

maybe return on the imperceptible desert breeze
when we open the windows on the edge of night
slide them in their grooves

glass walls on the move
hear them click
satisfied complete

releasing us from the box
letting us breathe at last
in this new language