Sunday, May 6, 2012

What I Do

Leave books out in the rain
until pages swell
like water on the knee
hard to move or bend

Dust infrequently
until all I can see of the cat
are her paw prints
ghosting across the table top

Forget the house-keys
in the door latch
and the poem that wakes me
in the middle of the night

to discuss the notion of
‘sticky not sweet’
something about a gull’s wings
the sudden tack of mid-flight

I hug everyone but you

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