Love-me-nots

Morning in the house of ghosts -

House of sugar, 

Of old bed and creaking staircase,

Ballerinas and cicada shells 

And quiet pretty things.

Shy friends from the rafters send feathers, 

Send dandelion-kisses 

To land in quiet places, 

Crook of elbow, back of heel, hinge of door. 

I pick them one by one: I love, I love, I love.

Be your ghost or angel. I'll be. I am.

I wander through pink room 

To folded moth-wing and paper skin,

A face bloomed like pale rose and

Mould of sleep along your milk-white lips:

Safe. Safe in cherub-harp and dream place.

And I love you. I keep the spiders out, 

Sweep the cobweb, sing for you 

Lullabies and pretty wreckage, and 

You be my angel. You be

My lovely thing.

Evening you will turn to bones. 

Then I'll open wide the door of ghosts 

The door of nothing 

Call in the pale moon 

To fill me and wash white

All that grit and dust lung ugly. 

So when the morning rises, stretches

Down the staircase, through the ballroom, 

Over cobwebbed chandelier,

I will think I know

What you need, 

What good a birdcage does.

But the love-me-nots are gathered weeping at my feet.

And they're saying Be good Be good Be good