only the smell is new. A week´s worth of unknown musk.
I tap my lamp and lunge for the bed, feeling full-grown
And still. Stillness becomes zippers, bags and dust,
Brushes neatly wrapped, boots bleeding odor
From half-pounds of coffee, blending like prayer shawls.
Sweaters spill over wire shelves, reach for the floor.
Almost enough light shows me nearly white walls.
I have forgotten it. It greets me again.
My eye catches pictures of other places, other loves:
My love and me. My loves, far away.
My loves, this moment. Clothes become piles,
Become drawers, one after another.
Even though I don´t know where I am,
Or if I will always be missing someone,
Or if I would rather be holding my niece in a mall by the beach,
Or staring into eyes who love our history.
Everywhere I pile and pack, fold and unfold.
I track in dirt and clean it. My tea leaves circle and sink.
I wish for what I might become.
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