glance from every washed plate, from green drainer or white stove, let light shine out at odd angles, from each clattering risk I take even from this small here, open windows, let the sun spark fire near or far, when I won’t throw open my door let my elbows un- hinge, poorest visitors, your visitants in, let dead center (like yours) be glory, oh world’s weeping wall.
© 2023 by Sandra Duguid Gerstman