glass the gatekeeper
asks the sky
if they’re on the list
the hinges of your heart
sprinkles rust like pollen
as the dark wind of your blood
squeezes through its doors
left ajar
songs soft as September
whispers through the grass
I like how the last of the light
lingers in the tree outside my window
clings to all its small leaves
clinging to the branches
pirouette upon rusted blades
across scorched streets
dissolve into the spray
of their own sparks
rust and ash
pollen and snow
I see you
the suits of shadows
lined with gold
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
beneath summer sun
share the shadow
of a brolly with you
within its soft circle
we’ll listen to the rain
in each other
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
your songs shriveling
to scent
summer did not live
in that summerhouse
winter and spring
braided themselves there
scars like lips sewn shut
kiss without tongue
the white of a waterfall
the moon hiding half its face
star charts
blueprints
for starlings