Rain
Stains
Somewhere
between chin on hands, elbows on table
and
the rattle and whistle of the world’s kitchen,
I
breath coffee. And know.
I
exist.
Somewhere
between the dream of I will
and
the thought of I want,
I
snort sugar. And laugh.
I
walk.
Somewhere
between the bedroom dance of nine o’clock dark
and
the tone of an incoming text,
I
touch ink. And see.
I
find.
Somewhere
between the cat under the bed
and
the gurgle of one hundred year young pipes,
I
smell dust. And remember.
I
live.
