caretaker

On especially windy days I would open all the windows and doors of your house,
letting the dust blow itself right back out; all your papers and pictures fluttering to the floor.

I would fill the corners of the rooms with wild climbing plants, lush and green in the yellow lamp light.
Breathing smells of damp, ancient life into your daily motions.

I would clean your bathroom sparkling,
of every stray hair, dusty water spot and soap scummy corners.
So you might find peace and ease in the rounded shining corners of porcelain.

In the early hours I would play soft music, strings and dainty chimes.
Low warm bearded voices beneath the high soft peeps of the birds outside in the yard.
a gentle soundtrack for the early morning dreams still forming in your sleeping head.

I would drive the three hours just for the sensation of warm sand on our backs and cold salty water on our lips, sticky on our limbs.
Or the two hours for the smell of deep pine forrest floors, the stillness of ancient trees and the snap of twigs under our feet.


Stretch the curve in your spine straight,
grease the creaky dull pain of the metal rod in your shin away,
ease the tension of the skin where the scar pinches,
knead the sore and tired muscles,
breathe an unlabored breath into your body,
or something as simple as stroking the hair at the nape of your neck.