For you, I iron my breath,
dust the flames from my shoes
grapple with my own fingers and their workings.
I go and finish sewing the apples back to the tree
blossoms to my lip
sprinkle flour on the floor of our kitchen
dance until we all return.
For you I will tie down my tongue
loosen my eyes
avert my palms.
It will be my job to fade the tiredness in the sunlight,
my duty to bulb each lantern
and polish polish polish all those tears.
You must do your own breathing
wearing all my wrinkles down.