Before I hide myself away
for another night awake,
I'll look up between letterbox gaps in the broken blind
to see the moon shift six degrees southeasterly and think that
in the next seven hours soft eleven light will leak through as
an alarm-clock-call no one asked for.

Before I walk out the door
for another day of yesterday,
I'll look for the wind coming down the road
to ask it if it's bringing me something new on its coattails.
Ikebana dalliance?
A chance blur with her?
Or something old and the same as before?

Creased lines in your cancer bed sheets
and red wine spills still remain
from that time you celebrated
your chemotherapy success.

Drug-blue cocktails were swapped
for beers from cans,
needles for straws and hospital-stock-
comfortable-armchairs for the advertised sofa in your part furnished floor.

Friends came with warm welcomes prepared
in the back of taxis coming from the city,
they came in wide eyed staring,
holding wine bottles remembering your once real wig of hair.

In a few months
This won't hurt as much
And you will be happy with yourself

On one of those nights
You will be dancing
Or ordering a drink

And I ask you
Hey
To think twice
What's your name
About the trouble
Nice to meet you
You're getting yourself in
I've never seen you before
And all the pain
We should go out sometime
You had to feel to get there

What was your name again?
Too late

We had a few beers, and then a few more...
The empty box flattened on the floor,
read something like twenty-four.

We danced to made up melodies...
A pair of socks and two bare feet,
shuffled around aimlessly.

"Look at the stars!" you said, staring at the ceiling...
All I saw were cracks and paint peeling,
but I found it was worth believing.