The blinds are always open in summer
like the kind gatekeeper
for Sun, and Light, and Good Things.
A man was killing and the blinds
The whole house— we,
Things gather dust when left to be.
Blinds gather sunrises and sunsets.
Close them, they said,
close them and mourn in peace.
And so I drew the blinds.
The shuffle of blinds folding into one another—
Winter is here
and it is dark again.