I wake up in the house

happy with the two men

who are sleep-creased and delicate.

They are trying out new meds.

They compare notes

and sometimes do cautious swaps.

They take it or they don’t take it.

Sometimes they double it and crash.
Our conversations consist of:

A/ unlikely animal friendships

B/ cleaning products for glass

C/ resumes written by ChatGPT.
When I change the shower-curtain

I look at the Dutch people printed on it.

The boy and the girl are always kissing.

Only the boy gets a panel of his own

on which he skates with hands folded.

What can he be looking for?
This day that opened with hopeful doses

ends with the scene of a polyester sea,

the swapped out curtain,

suspended on the clothesline

so close to the waves themselves

that we laugh watching

dazed butterflies as big as small birds

flapping across its depthless blaze.