The Vault

Little wave
in thought. 

Blank architecture 
that holds me. 

This is a little psalm 
in the moon-

struck snow. 
Thank you,

for I haven’t been 
patient as promised. 

Thank you,
for the desperate

Hopper-esque light. 

There is so little
to hold, I said

as I held it. Each 
bloom 

of strength 
that entered

my hands.

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“I wrote this poem on my typewriter when the apartment was empty. It’s a small reminder to love the world more.”
—Andrés Cerpa