In the mornings I wake to a clumsily crafted life,
a wrinkled blanket that has taken some time to weave
and in the crispness of the day I wonder where it was I lost you.
Did you drop out from inside me as I rose from my bed,
or was it in the shower as I washed away the previous night?
Could it have been in my recurring dream
in that nameless hallway where you slipped away into some room,
one whose door was locked and all my keys don't fit?
I hold my breath thinking that will keep you in,
for with each exhalation one or another kiss floats away
and outside in the misty summer you hang in the humid haze.
There are many things that I may call my own
but you are no longer one of them,
I don't think you ever were.
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