the cherry tree crown reached the roof—this tangible, impossible year
faster and faster empty over the years edges of holes crumble away
pulling fresh sheets over our bed of twenty years—the first time I waited for you at the train
I open the windows with birdsong and close it for construction
every night we wish each other a good night and ‘shout it loud from the window’—moon dial
within one moment i erupt in hot lava, inside out—my hairdresser’s sure I’m too young for menopause
layered in their radiating moods the air the air the air
pi & anne 
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