Maps in Sunlight

The smell

of an open bottle

of wine

invades us

in our room.

We watch

the lights dim,

if they were

flames they’d flicker

a bit but

bulbs bring

things low,

and then ride.

A fort and

hills all around

surround.

Just as the

snow melts,

hearts run wild

and new lines

crease everything;

and crease

everything again,

and fold and fold

and fold

to new wrinkles.