I’m sorry that the lights go out
during every storm
for the fields of burned grass
for the mounting stacks of dead song birds
for the tulips
and their suits of delicate flesh
for your crumbling tree house
your abandoned woodpile of fallen stars
for your angry screen door
and all its broken ribs
I’m sorry for the noose around your kiss
your stiff armor
your stuttering fingers
your shipwrecked hands
for the stinging slap
across every hopeful face
