You must not leave the story of yourself, this tiny book I love to open. I walk in your garden, sneak out the gate and smell the milky cows. I see your lovely cat on the garden fence, or where you work on a pile of material , snuggling in yarn, rubbing against your sewing machine. I can’t walk to your cottage, the ocean stops me but I might.
I drive off the road looking into the glow of windows. Little details; she carries something behind a lace curtain, I see the television, someone gets up. I do this with books, walk carefully through rooms, take my shoes off before stepping on carpets, tuck my legs up on the sofa and sip tea.
This life of mine. This tiny orbit. Then a glimpse like home. My soul ruffles with knowing. Someone slips in and the orbit shivers. Kinship. Oh my.
Sweet levity I say to each post. I will go into the closet to savor you. She creates to melt my heart.
When the fireflies come, a blessed surprise. This is how I love life.