ALT Hua Xi Rooms His going is domestic the way the house cat comes and goes. Yesterday, I did not see him and today, I do not know who my father goes to love across the parking lots dotted with bus stops. I only know the world is filled with rooms, that hands fill vases and their prettiness will bloom before your eyes into absence. I can see his laced leather boots by the door of another set of breathing. They look like children, brown and brief. They look like stones, still and weighted. They go like ceiling lights, on and off. I imagine we loved the same things from time to time in different rooms.