Ode to the open window

spring takes a breath 

and the city is an open kind of empty

the inviting kind

has there always been so much space?

Ode to the breeze slinking between

window screen threads

and how we will not put on a sweater

This city is overflowing

this apartment bursting at the seams 

with worry or 

something else invisible 

that everyone can see

But the sun threads its fingers through mine

we write poems about each other

my partner is smiling again

and we are having sex instead of lunch

Ode to the window chill and the forehead kisses

to the potted plants

to the little sister

who coughed out the winter

and woke up alive

I have been looking at the same cars

on the same street

and the same planted trees

who will be here long after 

this empty space we made for fear

and what do they know about survival

but sunlight

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