the full moon will soon arrive

it’s getting cold outside 

and inside, too

while others, unaware, tread above

our handprints papered over

until the faded walls are peeled away 

by curious fingers, pressing their hands atop our shadows

wondering, who lived here?

and we will answer in creaks and groans as the house breathes in and out

our silhouettes flickering in motes of light and dust

to be caught in the corner of an eye

everlasting, softly, our memory sheltered here

So I set our places at the table

And motioned him to sit, to stay

A mouthful, a shame, and he went his way

She told me, don’t spoil your appetite

So I sat, and sipped, and frowned

And it doesn’t taste like anything now

A year, a month, a day

of a rain-dotted footpath

a heavy shoulder bag

the smell of the dumpling shop

is hot and sweet

and the dust 

from the construction site

has a metallic taste

or maybe it is peppery

wet tanbark and gum tree leaves

some things used to mean so much

and don’t mean anything now

there is the white cat again

on her back in the fading light

humid and dim, dusty and damp

the clouds part

by the level crossing

and we part, too

heavy like fine, wet sand

yesterday’s waves

left behind ripple marks

these shining lines trace

the ways I have grown

so I am

hiding

in a coat of

dust I am

undone

in plain sight on

a high shelf

waiting

for the perfect

time that will

not come