Startle them slowly.
Pinch the ripe apple
of each exposed cheek.
Drape lace down
bare windows here lips
have already pressed ghosts
into chilled corners of glass.
No one will predict you
billowing in overnight,
an eccentric aunt mantling
a flurry of safety pins and scarves
through the air. You issued
warning--the frozen coins
of ponds and lakes chattering
in the hush of your woolen pockets.
If that isn't enough,
wait for footprints to crease
the front lawn. Splinter
the knuckles of oaks
into the earth's palm.
Then, when no one is looking,
blindfold the world.
- Michael Boccardo
