We've Reached an Impasse

Like the conversation between bricklayers
Slow steady grind of teeth on hay
After years of meeting at the bottom
Of a crooked staircase
With a welcome pack of cigarettes
And two bottles of cranberry juice,
We’ve tried, God knows,
But we can’t figure out the puzzle
Of a forest fire or the maps in our fingerprints.
We only tell ourselves lies to keep
From falling asleep.