walking up
stairs, so, does any
one need any
thing? empty
windows surround
you. spaces
for panes; ghostly.
there is no
impedance –
from emptiness
to emptiness.
our great fullness
expressed
in the emptiness.
no reason not
to make the trip
worth it. no
need not to bring back
several things all
at once. to
each side of
each empty
window, an
expanse of warm wood.
leaves and breeze
held close
in the memory.
you trace your
fingertips along
the smoothness of memory.
your fingers lose
the path, the wood trailing
away. all that
is left for you is
a gate
in a field.
behind you,
empty windows.
and in front,
sweetgrass, wildflower;
a gateless gate.
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