April

April brings storms

that rattle and shudder

against windows

with winds

that howl and whip

past the trees.

Pressed close enough

cheeks can feel fingertips

of something, someone

not quite there.

Pattering and scampering

outside

along the whirls in the glass

traced on the lazy afternoons.

In this room,

in this house,

all gods are welcome.

With hands around latches

there is no need of prayers

to call them here.

In the morning

the carpets will be spongy,

damp beneath feet,

and the curtains slick

to the touch.

Tonight however,

calls for bare faces

turned upwards

open

to the skies.

100wcgu-7.jpg

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