Taking Space

4 Oct

 

Five out of twenty nine.
As if with each caulked casement
leaving there is more room,
the air itself a rushing
love for lungs to drink.
Each cracked pane, each broken rope, each curling lip of lead
paint wrapped, carted away.
Wavy panes of perceiving
held together by bracing and time,
removed. Each day,
while I’m not watching.
Sometimes you don’t watch.
You lie still
and notice
when the house is opening,
and the dreams are leaking out somehow
like breadcrumbs for the Divine
to follow, gather,
and bring back to your bed
like lovebreath whispers
in the early light.

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