pull out from underneath the ratted sheets.
the day is old when i wake like this.

this day is bred from wrinkled shrink wrap
and crumpled up ash.

i breathe into and out of the pose the lake holds
as though through the imitation, i could
be the peace the rest of the universe
settles itself into.

pull out from underneath the faded light.
the day is old.

i’ve quit the sticks, i think,
so i can learn to listen to
magnetic pins again.

when you remember to,
come find me.