it’s morning —

i’m hoping you’ll get up and

pull back the curtains from

your windows so that i can

see what you’re thinking about.

i’ll peer through those shining

panes into the house that is you.

where did your furniture come from?

who gave you this book?

did you find this bird’s

feather the summer you were

six, and then the other one

on the lawn just yesterday?

apples and oranges are

similar in german only,

but do you have pears

in your fruitbasket?

i want to see the mental

snapshots on your walls.

do you dream in black and

white, or in bright colours?

what music fills your house —

not the peppy pop stuff you

hear all the time on the radio,

but your own internal song?

now it’s almost bedtime, and

i’ll have to go, but before that

please tell me a story —

tell me the story of you