Take the knife,
the one you use for splitting melons,
your favourite weapon for a summer’s day,
and cut the cake.
We’ll settle around the cracked hearth
with mismatched plates
and steep in this smoke and heat
that dries our lips and eyes.
The broken back of the rocking chair
provides manifold pokers
for splintered arms
that burn quite well.
We’ll nestle in the dark again
with dreams of trees with leaves
and life under a towering sky that
only closes the imagination.
And then wake to a startling white world.
And then step out.