Loss of Cover
Outside the light
of November diminishes,
the sun restless
in the linden trees.
Pruning from the bottom
my husband leaves clumps
of fat buds,
layer upon layer of closed blossoms.
It will take three years
for the flowers to thicken,
the empty air to fill
with fragrance.
The loss of cover
is apparent from the outside.
Inside my desk is clear,
the inks put away for the day.
Propped against a shelf
is a photograph of the girls.
They live somewhere else now,
though the house they lean against is mine.
