tell me what this is all about
whisper it to me and let the words dance around my head.
like my memory, in which the young leaves kiss my footprints, in northern towns, living well,
a wife in a little summer dress, black,
a landlord.
this is where we used to live, sugared hospital beds,
carrying the strangest news of tiny newborns the size of how the moon looks in the sky, from the ground up.
it could be great this way,
it would have been great this way,
living quarantined, crossed out. the hills are violet,
and your words are too,
dancing around in my head, whispering,
waiting for sunset to follow the sunrise.
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