and our ordinary gestures throughout
the years, passing by the often overlooked
the sometimes unremembered
everything in life begins with noticing
so here: i give you back the old house
placed oil jars beside the front doors
for tender are the openings
do what the returning do: love.
because what you’ll smell here is true: love.
and this room has a lemon dome
and this room has spiritual textiles
and this room has curtains of lace fidelity
it’s an intimacy triptych
embroidered traditions like warm ovens
divine cottons, reach far, high
on the top shelf the tea is still waiting
now i too am tempted
to slip back
into echoing, responding and honouring
to stretch myself over the sensitive listening walls
kitchen windows understand:
love is threaded
to the floors
soil-sweat, like us
pressing noses to skins
the kissing, the holding and the caring
no, you haven’t forgotten the way to love
because i heard your footsteps, bringing me water that night
when you too were struggling with a cold
do we measure time by love’s approach on the circling staircases?
count the roses on the bedroom wallpapers
or try oil.
because i like how our bodies glided
throughout the years, from room to room
how we carried each other
and our god-like things: love.
and we do what the returning do: love.
because what we smell here is still