like two shoulders that never knew they were shoulders
despite the weight placed on top of them.
Don’t forget about the open window and how it whispers breathily.
And what is a window but a lover, a fable: Day
in her daylight gown, the sun singing folk songs again,
singing skies in the key of Wheat Field
with Cypresses. Don’t forget about the window,
who was kind enough earlier to mention the doorway
in its reflection.
Adam Gianforcaro (he/him) lives in Wilmington, Delaware. His poems can be found or are forthcoming in RHINO Poetry, Third Coast, the minnesota review, Rust + Moth, Poet Lore, and elsewhere. He tweets intermittently under the handle @xadamg.