I have felt that I was born in a cold frame

A protective box for plant lungs

Latched shut

Watching life from a small sheet of glass fashioned into a roof

The light reflects an upside-down image of a life I might never visit

Too far to touch but not far enough to forget

The Hungarian word for latch is Killincs

Like a heavy chain touching concrete

Killincs - spoken- Kill -Inch

Like the inch it takes for a latch to cut you off from everything else

I am walking down that street

Where the giant figs line each side

Holding hands into an archway of the divine

My phone does not alarm me

Of every absence that has been thrust upon me

Instead, trees whisper to me

They stroke the top of my head as I pass

Their leaves mark the footpath with mosaic poems

Of mottled light against cracked pavement

For my eyes only

And the cloak I don

Threaded by early abandon

Does not render me invisible

Or make my presence unbearable

And the home we made

In each other's loneliness

Where we saw only reflections

In broken mirrors

Stays standing on a hill

A relic or kin

Overlooking a shipyard of neglected sailboats with names like 'Serenity'

I have the keys still

But I've buried the path