I thought about the book the grocery store always thinking about death
always listening to the train rattle the chain of the fence
what was I doing sitting in the settled dust
imagining you at the end of the aisle imagining me walking towards you
like it’s enough to be made to feel precious
and to remain untouched
thinking about the kitchen and staying in the bed
thinking about the bed and staying in the bath
I don’t like to divulge
don’t like to be observed or be remembered
sitting by the window trying to weave in ends
the prophecy was the quiet sunday was the park was the time to weave
around the pond weave the ends of the yarn between each stitch
the colours merging in the wash the bite of orange sun through the curtain