The Sun Has Traveled South, but i am still here

do you ever stare

at a black hat on a wall in the dark

and wonder if it’s somehow transformed?

a hole to crawl into & escape

this world–

somewhere that sleep

will find you with no

hesitation

and embrace you as

if it never left?

–or maybe as if

you never left it,

as if broken things

don’t have cracks,

as if hats aren’t just hats,

as if love

never left,

and hearts

never shattered,

and broken living doesn’t exist;

do you ever stare

at a black hat on a wall in the dark

until you produce

a shadow

just behind the rim?

{suddenly occurring to you

it’s still just a barely worn hat;

the contrast play tricks}

did you know if you

place

a tiny black

sticker

in the center

of your window

it can keep birds

from thinking

they belong

in your bed?

other times

it only

gives them

something to

aim for.

somedays I don

that hat on my head

and pretend

I’m someone

anonymous.

as if I have

become

a hole

in the wall,

unreachable.

gives a semblance of control.

to wear a hat

and a mask

and walk around,

only eyes out, down,

the cold covers us up

and the sun travels

south for the winter.

like birds, be careful

or else they might

fly into your window

because they were

looking for a new way

way to soar–as in,

they saw a black hat

on the wall

and thought they might be

able to skip

their long winter journey,

with weary wings in tow

they try to swoop in

your window.

Who Are You

To Say No? To an old ghost or

a friend or a bird or

him? Powerless to

shadows prancing

encouraging you

to peel away from

yourself

and try to climb

into the wall

through a black

hat that looks

like a hole.