The gate did not ask
if I needed to find
a way out.
It simply appeared
two steps before
the dead end.
The thorns did not ask
if I wanted to pick
the red flowers.
They just lined every branch
of the leafless bush.
The closed sign
did not ask if I wanted
to enter. The lock
did not care I did not
have a key.
The match did not ask
if I were kindling.
Its red tip disappearing,
your name written
in kerosene
on my heart.