small goals

a cup of tea with cream & sugar, quietly,
because it is just morning and no one
is demanding anything of you, and you don't
yet need to demand anything of yourself.

pillows behind your back, at the desk,
because it shouldn't be so hard to sit still.

pet the dog, put your cheek to his cheek, say hello
in a higher, sing-song register, because even this
brief touch brings you back to a place absent of toughness,
and because when he is being held close and cooed at,
the dog will lie at your feet for hours, calm and near-sleeping.

moisturize, have lunch, put on a clean shirt, empty
and refill the dishwasher, because you need to take care,
because the body needs to be restored,
because it is good to make time for tasks that force
an alignment with order, and because there is no easier purpose
than a clearing off of the dusty messes, the small eruptions of mail,
whatever gnatty distraction is in the way of getting somewhere else.

let go of the argument, its bruising remainder, its strangeness
and alarm, because when you keep it flattened to your chest
for too long you can't breathe, and because there is a whole
day outside just waiting to be plunged into,
ripe and forgiving and opulent with love.

ice water.
as little driving as possible.
the guitar for even five minutes.
sunscreen on that place on your shoulders you never get to.
a walk somewhere close. easy, even steps.
the smell of late summer. that hum of bees.
a view that stretches to another zip code.
close your eyes.
close your eyes.
close your eyes.
now open.