My New Life
I'll start it after lunch.
Maybe staring at the mountain
twinkle of someone's dropped
How dewy, washed, transparent all will be then,
And yet, all along, we were
I'll start at midnight, when the registers
I'll slip out with eggs in my pocket.
I'll start when the white-with-pink-blush peaches come
in the kitchen crusts in the sink,
When the mail arrives, when both hands hit twelve.
After a license plate with an X in it,
Exactly when a color no one's seen before
When the Bourbon rose's cream petals,
at the hip and drop