A crescent moon rises over half-lit, just-shut apartment buildings and the
air smells like the fourth of July and cherry blossom litter.
I keep the windows open.
The sky’s a gradient in navy, reaching out
with darkening hands in the lamplight. And
through the widowed weeping willow
I can see Venus for the first time in months so
I keep the windows open.
France in the spring, a fresh cool breeze,
a friend’s hand after a long sorrow, flowers in an
open window.
I know now
why they would rather surrender than
scar this earth.
Couples hold hands on the street and I
keep my window open to watch the sky gather darkness
and see the world gather us all into herself but
the flies bite.
