I visit that place once more,

Where the boiler has been going

Strong for 50 years and will last

For another 50 with regular

Maintenance and elbow grease.

I found my anxiety in-between

The door frame, in the form of

A great huge German Shepherd,

Fighting off change and visitors.

But soon I calmed him

Pulled on his ears like daisies or

A fire-bell, and looked out

The storm windows, single-paned

And flexible. A line of trees

Far off and green are tempting

Some like a matador,

To run through, fast and far,

Red in their eyes. I’ve done this

Dance. The red slipped to my mind,

And lit up the darkest parts,

Woke them up and brought them

Forward. I’m done with all that.

I’m through with sharpening my teeth,

And sprinting, full-tilt- into an open cage.

The trees still stand there, listening,

And to others, they mean warmth,

Keeping safe and distant

From the Honda factories, skyscrapers,

And all those filled graves.

From the stone bank where I now stand

They are a blanket held up to the light.

Sheet after paper-thin sheet,

Waiting to be written, waiting

For us to see them.

My mother spreads out her arms

Like eagle wings, but I can’t

Hear what she is saying.