One day I hope to care for you
as much as the next door neighbor
I see through cracked blinds
cares for her back yard, piling branches
and stripped bark and trimmed fat shrubbery
for garbage men on their Mondays
and Thursdays, added-to and stacked gifts
next to bins, piles carefully made
each afternoon of every day.
It’d make more sense
to stare at this 5am cheese moon,
the one with the lone peacock cry,
if I were accompanied by your
just slipped on smile.
To think I had a long chance to
wrap you in my arms on a Wednesday
and let it slip right through.
It’s only of some small consolation
I’m able to undress, redress,
drape you in these words instead.