Anniversary

When we arrived, there was only one chair in the upper room, 
and a square of sunlight.

Isn't it endearing, that prelude before the camera picks up 
the details? You can see how slow time is even as it lapses.

The hairline fissure in the corner is patched with plaster.

It is a known fact that even houses shift and breathe.

November again, and here  ground is stitched with 
the shadows of leaves.

For weeks now, after trash pickup, we've found our bins
on the other side of the street. A neighbor wants to start 
a petition to address this.

We have a twelve-year-old bottle of wine that still sits 
unopened on the rack. 

Nothing was promised to us though we made promises. 

Perhaps the tiny diamond that loosened from 
its prongs winks somewhere under the floorboards.
 
Last week the skies glowed a deep magenta shot through
with green— like blown glass tempered with gold salts and
metal oxides.