Fly to me – light,
light on branches leaving love
on each story,
an eye that I look at
shines and turns to me like a secret,
the edge of exile,
leaning to; I see you watching me
whiter and more transparent,
amass in everything that stands
for more than a wing to flight,
to see my trees surrounding a wish,
peering three-fold through the apples.
Tomorrow I’ll say that this body
cradles autumn now.
A smiling mirror image of everything
that you tell me you heard and saw behind the curtains;
what respite is not
when you do not fly.
A look alone weighs more memory,
sounding with spirits the souls of
souls like arms extending
toward clear air.