open my day

I should, perhaps, open my day
explode airtight starbright
come alive at midnight
slits of windows backlight
–just right

I could drop all my leaves
and wind sway
open up my day
I could dry up inkwell

crusty stone cold and old
broken but you’d never know

lost on roads found only
on maps creased, torn
and faded, perhaps

I should, perhaps, open my day
unfold it on the kitchen table
careful where you put that glass
I don’t mind coffee rings
or even ash

I could envellop into this book
lost in the signatures, sutures,
and signets…
or open still still my day at
the closing of a book I’ve
just completed

– September 25, 2001 | alameda