Birthday Postcard

A step, a step, 

Gently drawn down 

Corridors of wonder, 

Made curious by the held candle’s 

Thrown and flickered shadows 

She comes 

Doors and directions 

Fade in dim 

Perspective, and to the muted 

Sound of fingers blind on 

Architrave and wainscot 

Still she comes.

And in her eyes 

What monuments 

She builds from these dun 

Fragments: turned and burned 

And blown like glass to flawed 

And fragile worlds?

I guess at her 

Rejecting steps and silence: 

She doesn’t live 

(As we who watch) within the years, 

Doesn’t wear the world 

Or breathe it.

The birthdays 

Are only echoes of 

A permanent beginning 

Marking with laughter 

All the settled yesterdays and 

Free tomorrows.