Close the Lid

That summer there were
Certain perspectives
From the bed below

The northern window,
From which it would seem
A branch of one spruce

Lined up perfectly,
So its needle tips
Matched the silhouette

Of the peak opposite,
Like a custom-fit
Container and lid,

Each notch of the branch
Paired with cut outline
Of stone against sky.

Coincidence was
Calling us home. Home
Called coincidence.