cracked window looks at clouds, the mountain.
ledge, dead moths stretched out in
all their softness, stunned by light.
sewn curtains stir memories, indicate
a private place to weave and mend
a dream.
here are the items, the installations,
here are the photographs i take
each day. here are the worries
placed in the cupboard, with notes,
for you to read.
sbm.