“Today, make a list of the open things in your life.
Share it with your friend.” -- Naaman Cordova
I left my mouth in this room, still open.
Asking it to help me listen more,
hold back artificial smiles,
and work with me on this receding gum-line.
It works for maple cookie ice cream, barley tea
and an occasional kiss. The door to it is never locked.
Hallway-wide like a ballroom, carrying chandeliers
from the ceiling. They said you couldn’t grow willow trees
indoors so I took the doors off and saved the hinges
for when I needed more open. Now giant windows
touch the sky roof and these three willows do just fine.
Anyone is welcome to see them. They are like me.
Free admission. You get what you pay for and love it.
I even grow stars.
You should see how the chandeliers wear them.
What this freckle graffiti looks like when it juggles
the scintillating birthmark of a new constellation.
You could say the gods have been good to me.
Could even whisper. I’m trying hard to listen.
To open my ears wider than my mouth, this room.
I can hear your eyelashes and the cascade of hair
as you turn your head. It says the curve of your neck
is a wave on open ocean and my lips are compelled
to walk on water. There have never been floors here.