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