summer did not live
in that summerhouse
winter and spring
braided themselves there
you’re the moth-eaten moths of memory
the torn tapestry of my life
its seams of moonlight
scars become skin
rings made from rainfall
heart a grate
full with ash
carried out
to the garden
on a warm
windy night
how the wind
hisses a sigh
through the reeds
how the sea sings
far inland
bright
as a blackbirds beak
light stuck
between your teeth
eyelashes
on fire
rooms lit by storms
and midnight snow
we breathe in
the dark of each other
the white of a waterfall
the moon hiding half its face
songs soft as September
whispers through the grass
the tear
of the candle flame
sharpened
like a sable brush
pinched to a point
by the lips
of the sky
that refuses
to let it fall
the column
of its body
turns clear
before the soft chorus
of smoke
pulled
from its scorched
throat
my heart
more cave and cavity now
waiting for the collapse
fairy lights flickered
when no one was watching
woodsmoke curled to sleep
in the grass
bells hold onto
all the peals struck
from the dark
of their bodies
a forever home for shadows
hung in the wind
that whips whispers
from their stillness