I open the windows.
What I wanted
wasn’t to let in the wetness.
That can be mopped.
Nor the cold.
There are blankets.
What I wanted was
the siren, the thunder, the neighbor,
the fireworks, the dog bark.
Which of them didn’t matter?
Yes, this world is perfect,
all things as they are.
But I wanted
not to be
the one sleeping soundly, on a soft pillow,
clean sheets untroubled,
dreaming there still might be time,
while this everywhere crying
