Don't lean too far now the evening is squeezing out the light and our breath Poem by Charlotte Van den Broeck

don't lean too far now the evening is squeezing out the light and our breath
bump-blue the skin, pounded war drum of the failing inside us
the house submits to being divided into banana boxes and possessive pronouns
the bookcase into left and right
yours the maps, the Russians and the complete Márquez
I get dictionaries in all languages, the biographies of dictators
and yes, the poetry, now of all times refusing to speak, you ask:
which bird was it that tears its own breast with its beak?
the pelican gets no further than the tip of my tongue
now I know that mourning starts by bumping your elbow
and radiates into your fingertips
pre-emptive anaesthesia for the sense of touch