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I know that seeing my breath and people in layers
makes a subtle difference
when there's shadows without sun
I know that crossing off another day
on the calendar I jokingly made
means only
closer to more of this
I keep getting with one more dream
left behind
I know there are fixed ways to see
and
pretend some faint purpose keeps
the line straight that divides convention
and whatever I claim to be doing here
I
know the days are slimming now
and the end of Fall pulls the last leaves down
I re-read another stack of papers
and
wonder again what's the point
I discussed so many times
this very thing with a friend of mine
now she seems like
a story I tell
to myself when I need the cold to blur
though every thought that's delivered
from this now is addressed
to her
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