On this day of my life
I’d like a truce
when I would not think
what came before
what does it lead to
I have wished for a day
without thinking
who owns this field
that I’m not sure I can cross
Not to be drawn into this day
needing to possess
the food that takes me to another
There’s no object
not owned
not a tree not a blade
not the white thumb of a mushroom
And there’s no way out
but I wait for a day
– Thursday or Friday
it doesn’t much matter –
with a great peace
between us