Throwing Rocks at My Own Window by Abby Hanks

in the evenings
in which I am reduced
to the matter of my own
changes

I lie in the green grass
outside the house I drew
and colored with My own hands

to throw rocks at My own window
trying to have a chat
with the Woman somewhere up there

She,
a pandemic
younger than I
She,
in Her little Renaissance
in Her little Golden Hour

now this lawn divides us
the years as our ocean

I see Her
every once in a while
but it’s been a while