on days like this I find myself

seeking things I will never find,

locked inside the circle of a shell snapped shut.

on days like this I avoid 

the rotten teeth of the crowd 

who bring dread to the door 

and keep me stranded in a lake of bed 

where I lie dressing and undressing your ghost

sketching the outline of your smile in paints

that drip, drip and wash away 

leaving familiar patterns of grief 

on the table top of my eyes,

olympic rings baked into aching pine 

like coffee cup stains 

by a sun that screams

through windows I cannot face

and blinds the cries that hide 

in walls in rooms

drowning out birdsong

on days like this when

whys outnumber ifs and whens

and time surrenders to piercing light,

the light in which I watch dust

drifting down in parachutes

to conquer each surface.

 

nobody tells you 

there will be days like this.