Bad Things Could Happen (Revised)

After the flood
a dead smell comes into the house from beneath the floorboards.
It puts a fog on our lives like breath on cold windows.
Water condenses along the surface of consciousness.

For three nights I dream the drowned body of the man who waited to kill me.
Dead under the house with his knife and fangs.

When I leave in the mornings,
my joy for life fills the car like tears,
spilling out into the streets of the city.

A trail of joy has spread out behind me
like blood for vultures.

Bad Things Could Happen

After the flood,
a dead smell came into the house from beneath the floor.
For three nights I imagine it is the dead body of a man
who waited beneath the house to kill me.

In the mornings,
my joy for life fills the car like tears.
It spills out into the streets and runs through the city.

A trail of joy has spread out
like blood for vultures.