January 2022

January 2022

The gentleness is here. The gentleness came with force. Tumbling down the mountain and landing so softly on my roof.

The girl tracks the gentleness in and lets it puddle around her boots on the floor. The girl cups the gentleness to watch its muted melt into wet noise. The girl and I both stand until we are white pillars, just two more trees in the forest.

The gentleness is here and gone and here again. The girl and I come to a truce in its absence. We hold the waiting for it like a child between our two chests. The girl agrees to part with the indoor tree and elderly milk, but she sits often in the stairwell talking to the bricks and promises not to part with me.

There is nothing else I care to say about it. I am briefly the stuff of angels.

Shh,

the apple house