swoon

(azazelok via pixabay)

when you come home

I am shoving the old calendar
face-first
into the sink
as the light fixtures swoon

hope is tactile
but you gotta be careful with it too:

it buries the front step
in feathers

and sends you two towns over
looking for
the only thing you left behind

but still — when you’re here
beetles
moonwalk
and the fruit bowl
quickens
and I find I can

finally smile at everything