"i have
no socks"
you say;
slightly
frustrated
in the
morning.
i watch
you —
splendid
human-dust
float about
our little
home.
in worldly
commotion
about making
the most
of this life,
i wonder
how much
more it
takes to
make the
most? if
there was
such a
thing, would
it certainly
not be
this?
here?
tea
poured
from a
saucepan
into a flask.
driving far
in the night
to watch
meteors fall
or pick up
mid-week
groceries.
could 'most'
be in a state
of mind that
makes for a
lovely, long
sleep?
coffee cups
washed and
dried; walking
along a market
making songs
out of words
at random.
shoots
becoming
leaves on
a new plant.
arms and
legs?
warm
water?
clementines?
sunlight?
this?
here?
big sigh.
you stop
in the
middle
of the
room.
look
at me.
all the
socks
are in
the left
drawer.