knew it was something

knew it was something
 
There's water on the aeonium,
it pools and lingers,
honeybee cup,
sparrows squabble
over territory in roof space
and I sit, bone marrow and fat,
coffee in hand, as alive as shrubs
beneath suffocating vines,
infertile and stunted
and waiting to be no more
than an a-frame.
 
It's still the birch,
it's still that papaver,
it's still every loose strand
climbing the walls of this house,
it's still a maple,
a solemn crow,
it is still, all still
folding inside me,
less beautiful than it was before,
as if someone has taken the heart out
replaced it with a stone.