I have forgotten to tell you my name
You may have seen me through the window
The shop windows after the shop has closed
dreaming of outside from where you’re looking in
the dreams of my childhood are kept in the back
behind a secret latch,
a secret doorway
Through which would I let wrong ones in and keep right ones out

There’s an old man playing a pedal steel to the sound of my tears
There’s a farmer growing the crops with the wetness of my tears
There’s a child painting the forest chasms of my green eyes with my tears
There’s a sleeping ancestor dreaming of waking in the caves dripping with my tears

I have forgotten to remember my name before I was me
You may have searched the stars for to understand my longing
Coming in from the cold, I wrap inside my soft sweater, stoke the fire within, and capture the memories of smoke in my hair