All day I think about what to do with the day.
I walk down the street for a coffee and to think
About what to do after that. On the table
Someone before me has left a little
Saucer of salt, with a wooden spoon
Like a tiny oar in white sand. Eventually I walk
Back to my apartment. When I turn the key
In the front gate, at the bottom of the steep staircase
Leading up to our door, my left eyelid twitches twice.
Inside I know there are things I want to do
With Monday: they levitate in the field of view
My mind makes, opening, like fireflies,
Or those old yellow lanterns along the perimeter of a yard.