Your House

your house when you are away lights candles and burns them for you arranges fresias stolen from a friend’s wedding likes their smell wish-making liberties wide open arms honey and clove scented bedclothes Even black and white finds its colour over time sepia photographs and the walking-towards purple of Indian ink such silent reverence for the control of a brush so fine touch-paper hair-trigger sensitive Invisible sign on the door says “Just gone out to meditate – back in 50 years” no fuss you are