John's Cross

In love with your sadness
you lock the door,
leave the house.
Neighbours have gardens
all the colours of clowns,
sweet scents you nose out,
perfumes allude to.

It all turns back
to that.

Sunset will come, unaware
of its audience.
You're not waiting. There are maps
unfolding each step, drivers eyes
to consider,
treetops.
The sway you urge yourself to feel.
Life turns inward so easily. A slip
of a girl you almost knew,
as though completely.
Her barefooted smile.