To the room whose window faces a wall,
I hope to be the hour of light you find,
I wish to be the sound from down the hall,
the giant wave that breaks upon your mind.
To buildings with space but nothing within,
I hope you’ll see the absence as a gift.
When time goes wide and love pulls very thin,
I wish you grace to dance between the shifts.
To lives that aimed for moons and found the space,
I write your name each time I write my own.
I hold you like dead flowers in a vase,
and try to frame a truer frame for home.
In rooms where windows seem to be our best,
please hold this lonesome poem to your chest.
Day #24 of #nationalpoetrymonth | Cover image: Simona Sergi