I am welcomed by a woman in the garden,
Mascara running down her eye and staining her dress of silk

She invites me in too early,
And asks me to only stay briefly

I can’t remember anything but irises blooming in her eyes
Plucking the whole heads off of white petal, yellow eye daisies

If I close my eyes I can hear the train whistle radiating through my nerves
The whipping of my ceiling fan above my head

The click of the front door locking
Mile markers painted by poppy pollen

Take me home when the poppies bloom
And the prickliness of their stems is soft

Red brick matching the stain of pollen
I long for her all year round