a poem by the bedside...

Rain swarms and branches outside sway hello and
the even the dogs don’t look happy

There’s enough luck to go around.

My sheets are dotted green and white
and though it is time I can’t seem to change
them,
see i’ve been doing that a lot lately,
grasping onto small and unimportant objects
because they contain, like a winged creature in an amber
drop, a feeling, a menacing and nostalgic patter
of
tiny
tiny
wings
and I can’t for the life of me let them escape-
though they are not they, they are just whats or thats,
socks and the colors of the blankets together and with the curtains and the candle and drawer arrangements-
stupid, really,
to think that changing my shirt that for a few days looked good
would shift the earth, my heart, and I won’t get it back,
even
with the second rinse cycle
even
though i believed in its power as surely as i did not.