summer did not live
in that summerhouse
winter and spring
braided themselves there
I write to you
to keep you near me
glass the gatekeeper
asks the sky
if they’re on the list
light a candle
with me
all night
we’ll watch
the lowering
of the flag
of its flame
the poplars are still
silver shivers inside
ripples repeating themselves
within the pillars
of their trunks
watched the wind
read the fields
each blade of grass
a word
dandelions
became sunflowers
heads bowed
by the weight
of their manes
curtains need the breeze
to touch the room
a little more
close the gate gentle
make it chime
close it like a delicate thing
as if just leaving
looking in
upon a sleeping child
isn’t that how hearts
should be handled
footsteps made faint
by grass
no knock required
no doorbell
rattling the rooms
just the soft cry
of a rusted hinge
is love
the performers
performing for themselves
a slow show
once the wings
of the main show
packed away
instruments played gentle
as injuries
bright
as a blackbirds beak
light stuck
between your teeth
eyelashes
on fire
sparrows dream songs
within the walls
a gate
spills the garden
into the street
curtains wait for a breeze
so they can breathe again