Most objects are separate.
I feel the need to blend them.
I had this beginning scribbled
Among lecture notes:
There is no time to study each person individually.
Fugue from the scene of a crime.
Your voice dips and disappears
Always in sight of your house.
A memory of how I used to write a memory.
How I used to write mere horizontal repetition.
How did I spend most of my evenings?
Among naps, public radio broadcasts and throw pillows.
My wife brings me tea.
She brings me tea.
The baby is in bed.
We are too tired to talk
For different reasons.
One night, I forget
My left leg hurts and walk
Our neighborhood's sidewalks.
I have the attention span of a flea.
My mind wanders further than my feet.
Savings projected over a twenty year period.
Regret twinge - something I said three weeks ago to a student.
Moss grows in sidewalk cracks.
Usual Zen oath.
Open spaces, double lots in the Bronx.
Windows can be lit or unlit.
Licking wind whipped lips.
Renting vs. owning.
Several lengthy considerations of the music I loved in my adolescence.
Why shopping for groceries is different than hunting and gathering.
A pile of gift sweaters I should probably return.
A sidewalk crack with no moss in it.
Where do gift sweaters get returned?
If we owned a house we could garden.
The left front leg of my desk rattles underneath the press of my hand.
A poem which tries not to hide what it means.
If we put aside sixty dollars a week.
Houses on the periphery of parks share the sense of watching.
Most of my five borough apartments have been near the end of subway lines.
If we put aside sixty five dollars a week.
The pile of unfinished correspondence.
Everybody I never called back chasing me in a dream.
The sky rustles.
Already in bed and with the bed lights off
But she rustles when I enter and leans on her elbow
While I talk through our future with my hands.
She swoons back to sleep after I'm cozy enough
To pad out to our couch where the public
radio broadcast won't keep her up.
A particle accelerating at the speed of luck holds
Its breath during the last downbow.
At the most infinitesimal level, verbs
Fail to knit nouns closely enough.
The quartet resolves.