Audio: Read by the author.
Open the book, but the page cracks.
Take your arm, but it’s gone.
The stairs we used just yesterday
belong to someone else.
I’ll sing a song three hundred times.
I’ll open a door for a breeze.
I’ll spend my love in a spendthrift’s dream
at no return or cost.
Love won’t be reckoned in gain or loss;
it was and yet it is.
Across the woods the dogwood floats,
giving itself away.
