one by one the years submit
and i turn my head,
too ashamed to watch.
carefully i fold them,
days and months and weeks,
bending corner to corner
in straight and permanent lines
creased and smooth.
curled with knees to chin
i divide life among colored bottles,
arranging them across this dusty
window ledge in tightly forced rows.
i write words across these pages
that are tucked away, dismissed.
even when i see you now,
or think it may be your familiar silhouette
in passing traffic, my slender fingers
remember how to fold.
