because i love you,

  a wooden door, left locked, is given a window,

  clear glass, and port hole, 

  a place to speak.

because i love you,

  the window has a hinge, creaking, but functional

  which i slowly open in the summer, when things are warm, safe

  and the wood doesn't swell in the heat.

because i love you,

  the window stays closed in the winter.

  this frost is internal, and quick as the winds on Everest,

  too many hikers have succombed to it, left frozen by the path,

  examples for those who follow in their foot-steps.

because i love you,

  some days i smash the glass.

  the lines in my hand are not from my clenched fist,

  but from my open hand, careening into the false clarity in front of me,

  and coming away with rivers, evaporated in the summer's heat.

-Tara Hayes