looking
outside my window
i see the leaves of a grapevine
sometimes at night the sky is bright
each leaf is black against it
dark hands
i stretch out my arms
toward them
but there is nothing to hold
they are outside and only leaves
silhouetted.
like the gates of the wintergarden
on valentines night
many years ago
the dry leaves beneath me
and your face above me
the oak tree
black lace spread over the sky.
something only i saw
and when i want to
stop
and turn inward
and run around inside myself
tearing down the memories
i know that even if i close the curtains
the leaves spread still
as the light gets through
so i may as well
keep reaching
for valhalla
always.