When You Asked for Photos by Kumiko Mae

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There are 501 grains of your thoughts
scattered like leaves of a
Japanese fall
on my plate, ready
to be my sustenance,
this warm porridge of revelries.
Each careful scoop
invites your deepest secrets
to the surface
and I blow upon your fears
with gentle conviction
to lighten your load
and ready my mouth
to feed
on you, and maybe
even drink you clean.
But I hunger these days
when you sit by the window
craving for the world
fogging the glass
between your home
and the forest
of old stricken trees
on mine,
until I tap and break
your silenced silver.
There is only stillness.