Things I Wanted To Write About While There Was Still Time

Your smile.

The way you turn
to face the window
as
you walk in.

Careful to stand
with your outside boots
inside the rug.

How the weary day dissolves
in the last pool
of December sun.

Reminding me to love exactly
this moment.

As if there wasn’t

another.

Room

There are houses that
we live in. Bags of
bones and promise rivers
want
to wash away. There is

time, less left
to play with. Voices,
fingerprints and hearts
to throw. There are newborn

dreams to rock, mayflies
to catch and chase
with mirrors, Space
can’t help

but learn to fit
the way

We fill.