I am at your doorstep
flowers in my hands like foreign things,
I don’t know why I’ve got them but the air is
tight, my pulse loud,
and you answer, as if you hear its knocking.
You’re far away but if I tilt my head and squint, I think
I see you smile
and my heart rises

like the heat in summer
like the balloons that leave our hands when we are young

And then I wake