Poetry 365

You came from a distant planet,
bags full of crumpled shirts for me to launder.

With the passion of a month of wins and losses
you searched the house for adrenaline.

I can hear the rumble of the house, hinged
to the slamming door as you went out to drive.

I’ve slept with your dirty shirts around
my pillows, called to you from dreams

for a thigh across the turnpike and an answer.
In the car I imagine you weighing my face

and the sound of my voice against faces and voices.
I’ve wondered who stood in black below the horizon

clutching a headstone like a stack of clean shirts.
I fold the tee-shirts neatly

but take no measure for unwanted creases
hold the just gone scent of you like hibiscus

hold the last light of day until morning.