Dawn pries apart my blinds,
gaps of roan and blue
Footsteps sigh,
Gulls call softly
on a current

In my downy loft,
I tally what I’ve lost -

the tattoed man
who didn’t smile,
the last mile
I’ve never ran.

The sharp fingers pull me from the infinite stillness to -
snapping metal teeth on paper,
sandwiches, made a day later
- where everything is paced and measured.