In the rear-view mirror, a dawn wounded pink – bruised as clouds on a child’s legs. Houses, not yet houses, just shapes scissored cleanly from a swelling sky. The light, wiping the night’s dirt from each home’s bloodied face.
We found a way to play this game, then you found the best hiding place of all: under shingle, marble, your dates in gold; under sun, rain, snow. I covered my eyes as you were closing yours, as you made yourself invisible at last – made yourself impossible for me to find. But I can still see you mate, with my eyes shut. And when I close them for good, ready or not, I’ll look for you. I just have to keep counting, don’t I? Keep counting till it’s my turn to hide.