near where I used to be - but I sleep more these days,
get up earlier than I used to,
put carrots in the juicer and watch the man
we pay to clear the pool of leaves reach

and pull the debris from one side towards him,
like a curtain dragged open to reveal something
see-through like air,
something that was always there,

these little pleas of intimacy,
shy hearts that fall like hope to the mat,
shunted aside as I open the door to pay him,
a royal head trodden brown and flat -

listen to me as I tell him, laughing,
You know, I don't even swim anymore.