He looked

    He looked at their garden
    as if it were grey. Above him,
    the sky was brittle.

    Words were wafers in his mouth,
    and the skim of his glimpse
    resolved into window.

    He did not hear
    how the last white air
    fractured. How the glass he held

    fell from his grasp
    into silent, absent syllables.
    Or how brittle the sky.

From the book Looks Familiar