Trellis

I took

a second look

into the night

from my window.

The low moon

left an ethereal glow

on the trellis,

where vines

drank quietly

from the dew.

They mocked me,

growing

fast

and fierce

with almost

no attention.

Meanwhile,

I hang

in suspension,

rocking

in the corner

of my mind.

Tracing

dotted lines

with a red pen

through

a children's book.

When did I begin

to envy

ivy?

It knows

how to climb.

I ricochet

off every emotion

inside me.

Lie with me.

Lie to me.

Tell me

the flowers

in my garden

are still fragrant.

Tell me

the closets

are finally vacant.

Tell me

the monsters

have all died.

The ghosts

have made

their peace.

Half past midnight.

The fireplace

offers

warmth

and light.

In this state,

I feel

neither.

(Outside,

The ivy keeps climbing.)