that's what I do when you're not around
that's what I do thousands of miles away
from the parking lot
where I forgot
what hands and skin and air were for
where I was reminded
before I had to relinquish anything more
than was given
moving rivers, imagining shipwrecks
these are rules for living
and tomorrow, gentle evening, by the bay
I will glance sideways at the author
thinking she might see me struggle with conceit
recoiling, still thinking on my sturdy feet
the rest was unimportant
the movies weren't very good
but there was music, there was integrity
that's what I do in bed when I'm longing
that's what I do hundreds of days past the restructuring
in my blank apartment
where I don't know
which plants go where, which paintings to display
where I am reminded
of what needs to be done before the exodus day
moving rivers, imagining shipwrecks
these are rules for living
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