This is true,
You know,
I listen to the walls, the floors,
The ceilings, the furniture, the doors.
Happy are the doors as you pass through them,
Their lintels scream with joy.
I hear this.

When you are gone I hear them moaning,
"Where is she?
Everything sags a little more.
It all moves closer and tries to fill the void.
Secret tears fall from the ceilings cracks
And the floor is colder, shabbier.

Every room is happier when you are in it.

The sky shouts madly when you step out of doors.
The rain sings more gladly as it falls.
Even the moose roll their eyes in a certain hotter
pleasure
When they know you are there and watching.
The trees reach a little higher
And all the autos purr.

Come, my darling,
And lean upon the windowsill of my heart,
Look long upon the view with your deep and ardent eyes.

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