milky blue June and endless afternoons

the worst thing getting smaller every day

               you return in different forms      

immortal        sometimes a bluebird

on a white gutter or the smell of honeysuckle

or gardenia          the contrail over the house

like a seam in the sky

no one asks questions anymore

or mentions the thing that is you

and how it is you vanished           for example

today’s survival depends on the room

where you would have lived

the green paint cracking is a vein in the wall

            like that you are back again