I’ve played every game of hide-and-go-seek
In every crepuscular backyard
I’ve ever been offered and yet I still have hungry bones,
They crave public speaking and guitar solos and
A mossy bunker syruped in insurgent nighttime,
Yellow Dairy Queen drive-thru windows when it’s still not quite spring and
Attic card games that smell like quilts and old wood.

It has really always been fear-
Fear that the others wouldn’t see the execrable constellations of flies on the windowsill
Or the way the aurulent old glass panes warped the tree branches.
I had this doomish consciousness that it was my notice that animated these jewels,
I gave them souls that
Followed me forever, their gaunt and incomplete faces impressing that
I must remember them.

The loveliness in the sky reminds
me that these clouds do pass with time.
This morning, it was dewy and dark—
drearily doomish, sullen and stark
but now the sun’s rays bring out the gold
in every crevice, to banish the cold.