Clean windows

 

The window cleaners visit and squish soap

and the foam spells out your name on the pane

but when I stop to look closer, it’s wiped off

just a few faint watery streaks remain.

 

Meanwhile, the doves have abandoned their nest

two dead eggs lie on the sill on their own

a few scattered twigs, a faint streak of dust

the cleaners brush off the rest – the doves are gone.

 

Your name’s in the birdsongs, the doves and pigeons

that perch to shelter from the midday heat

but when I lean in closer to listen

it’s just the sounds of urban homes and streets.

 

An airplane’s overhead and in its contrail

your name glimmers once, before the light fails.