Folding

It was so strange walking up to your door last night. . . 

it is as if the pavement is peeling away as you prepare to leave.

Carpeting retracts from the stairs
like a cat's tongue curling back
after a yawn.

The lights flicker,
every bulb is a little candle's flame
walls thin, like old playing cards
quivering in the wind.

Window blinds waver like watery eyes
for they recognize what comes.
The trees outside shed their clothes. . .
The feathers to your wings.

Take my hands my love
Let us race like our heart beats
to our next adventure
As the street folds closed,
like a wet, black fan.

Canopy of Golden Plans

Love is funny. . . 

It is patience,

Sitting by a field

tending the sprouting green

as it layers over the remains 

of every prior season

to see what colors arise

to paint name

a pink tremor on your lips

the cloudy blue cocktail,

stirring in you eyes

or a canopy of golden plans

in dreaming the next adventure

But we are also delving

changing and shifting

picking through earth's pockets

for the unexpected

a timeless day

when we lighten our burdens

or the perfect corner

of my arm for you to rest