To drop the latch and your belongings,
to say 'put down tomorrow's feat,
put down the tune of yesterday,
put down what calls away your
attention from the endless breadth
of now' - to drop the latch and slot
the key neatly in and not be reminded
of the worst *** of your life, to
look down at your shoes and not be
in a montage flashback of every
game of tennis last summer
when each stroke was a delayed rebuttal
from arguments before, the manly swipes,
the posed sliding on asphalt,
the gathering of ***** found sunbathing
with the brown baking weeds,
to run a mile and feel every jolt
and not imagine a face to run from,
and not pretend there is an
amalgamated idol of petrified lovers
just past the traffic lights, to not
invent telepathy and play it like a game,
reading the negativity in the loiterers
outside the post office across the road.
To see a mirror and forget to ignore it.
To watch the face in perfect humble
clarity, to see it as a friend would,
to say okay on a daily basis to the eyes,
to see for the first time their glory-
colour, to be okay without repressing,
to drink a glass of sauvignon blanc
without accompany on a Thursday morning
because the work rota allows the luxury.
To turn the television off.
to back into the night because you must,
to back into the night so you cannot
***** your way with hands, to keep
reversing and to watch what you pass
and to only stop when necessary, and
even then not for long, and turn around
and give thanks to walls and tripwires--

in the morning, with nobody there to know,
to take off all your clothes and then
that final layer, to be devastated
by the contours of another's, though
it may be only memory, to be distracted
by a speck of thought and start again,
to be one day older and to never age.