Windowpane
Your memory,
Like the bottle of Spring Water
That you left
In my refrigerator,
Cowers in corners of consciousness
Next to the baking soda and hypothalamus.
These cupcakes are gooey
Were the spoken words,
As in my hands
That bottle landed.
Clear plastic
Water retention,
White cap…
Blue label…
Violet irises pop through winter’s last snow
To dance in circles upon the riverbed.
You turn to leave me,
Your reflection
Starring back
In the glass
Is streaked away by the rain
Singing an aria upon my windowpane.
