You left the poinsettia I (stole) got
for you in the Rotunda or maybe
Seasonably gray clouds foreshadow
thick dots on window panes,
heavy drops roll, puddles comfort
cracks in the cobblestone path
as we walk further away from red
silk petals in shadows
clumped like sunken hearts.
We pass through a green door
A friend greets us, you say “eyes
Are the windows on the house” but
in the house, on the house you couldn’t
see through green housing my worry,
the tea evaporated you into the rain.
Eyes are made for recanting chemical
trails, rainbows that run from street
lamps and headlights. You don’t know ears
are walls, distinguishing heart-felt apologies
from whispers in the spouts of a fountain.