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