Halcyon

well, that's you

when your call came,
i was just like morning linen
a heart filled with unmarked pages,
like milk steaming quietly.
and then, suddenly,
we were drinking tea
out of porcelain cups,
laughing about the rooms
not yet lived in,
thin light fluttering
through thin curtains.

i see you very well now,
catching first snowfall
with bare hands,
smelling like chalk dust,
sun on closed eyelids.
white orchids you thought
would suit better
than ruddy roses—
well, that's you.

when overcast afternoons
revealed fog between buildings,
our breath caught in cold air,
pencil shavings, unwatered plants
look at our clocks,
ticking without urgency.
worn concrete steps
leading to the outhouse
was the dust on windowsills
there all along?

i see you very well now,
erasing sentences,
deleting messages.
sobbing, screaming, shouting
why can't you ever understand me?
grey paint you thought
would look great
on the white-walled cottage—
well, that's you.

when the confession came,
i was arbitrary, trembling.
how did we end up like this?
coffee left untouched
by the windowsill,
nights without stars,
silence that never asks,
sleeping without dreams.

i see you very well now,
ink dripping
after the pen rests,
burnt matches thrown
on asphalt roads
after lighting altruistic cigars.

i wear it now
the black dress you thought
would look great on me
for the wedding.

well, that's you.