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.