The Sun Has Traveled South, but i am still here
do you ever stare
at a black hat on a wall in the dark
and wonder if it’s somehow transformed?
a hole to crawl into & escape
this world–
somewhere that sleep
will find you with no
hesitation
and embrace you as
if it never left?
–or maybe as if
you never left it,
as if broken things
don’t have cracks,
as if hats aren’t just hats,
as if love
never left,
and hearts
never shattered,
and broken living doesn’t exist;
do you ever stare
at a black hat on a wall in the dark
until you produce
a shadow
just behind the rim?
{suddenly occurring to you
it’s still just a barely worn hat;
the contrast play tricks}
did you know if you
place
a tiny black
sticker
in the center
of your window
it can keep birds
from thinking
they belong
in your bed?
other times
it only
gives them
something to
aim for.
somedays I don
that hat on my head
and pretend
I’m someone
anonymous.
as if I have
become
a hole
in the wall,
unreachable.
gives a semblance of control.
to wear a hat
and a mask
and walk around,
only eyes out, down,
the cold covers us up
and the sun travels
south for the winter.
like birds, be careful
or else they might
fly into your window
because they were
looking for a new way
way to soar–as in,
they saw a black hat
on the wall
and thought they might be
able to skip
their long winter journey,
with weary wings in tow
they try to swoop in
your window.
Who Are You
To Say No? To an old ghost or
a friend or a bird or
him? Powerless to
shadows prancing
encouraging you
to peel away from
yourself
and try to climb
into the wall
through a black
hat that looks
like a hole.
