If you see me get up and stand by the morning window
I am remembering the accents of one-sided phone calls
And afternoons with mother
And what I was doing on this day, or that day
The details of an old house, an old friend
And how soon it would take for life to resume.
In those moments, you may take me
For I am on autopilot
Tying to think of some metaphor for
Watery lips, cucumber smile
Secret reflections, unspoken connections
And whether dreams satisfy
The real needs of my heart.
Or whether that was all just fodder,
Fodder for some listless afternoon
Or another short poem
With places and cathedral backrooms
Where men turn their wants
Into allegorical nursery-rhymes.
They don’t want to realise how soon
Life will resume
At best they know it’s like a
Half-forgotten old holiday trip
With some quirks, some follies
And their dreams can only be – lost to the world.