Outside In

I have long been waiting
for the outside to come in,
for the gravel to lie graciously
on the floor, for the sparrows
to clutter the air, and the oaks
to reach in with their clumsy hands.

I have long wanted the chipmunks
to chitter in the kitchen, the squirrels
to run track in the attic, and the possums,
with their sad eyes, to come in
from the dark and share some tea.

I’ve asked the clouds
to drape the windows, the drizzle
to shower in the stalls, and the old blue
sky to make himself comfortable
on the walls.

And at night I’ll call in the seasons,
and we’ll talk of pattern and routine,
of sun and of moon, of day and
of night, and of the tides
in the basement, the ocean swell.

And in the morning, when
the ivy creeps in, I’ll know
it’s a new day: time to offer
my body to the soil, to serve
caviar to the snails, to hear
the crickets’ evening song—
time to close my eyes and dream
a different air.

Published in Beyond Words (Berlin, Germany), both online and in hard-copy edition