day 11: i need a front porch for this

Butterfly weed, tied
to Carolina Jasmine
with a blue ribbon;

you dug a hole in
the front yard and planted a
Judas Tree in

return. Your dark eyes
skewed bright with glass. I never
knew your shade of blue,

you rarely wore it.
I can only see echoes
of you, but my ears

ring empty when the
reel runs up--the Pacific,
the redwoods, backstage,

each home--still; I see
us talking, but I cannot
remember your voice.

No pine at my door--
it’s just been a sunset of
an evening, no more.