this box of lightbulbs

after, reach for words—
the same way, in other moods,
you reach for dark chocolate,
or the coziest chair by the fireplace,
or your funniest friends—reach for
Comfort and Joy.

There is a cupboard full of tea and good whiskey,
bread baking, the table set for everyone you like.

In the same way, a stack of poetry books
on the shelf—deceptively thin,
luscious words wait
to pour out into all the rooms in this house

The front door
with its now bedraggled wreath
is unlocked
and though the porch light burned out
a whole box of lightbulbs waits on the shelf