On Wednesday I receive a vision of your bedside table
Your knickknacks
give me call on Wednesday
The weight of the middle
Of the week burdens me
less than hope
The stuff on your shelves
yearns for me
Their call comes ringing to me
In the sterile aisles of the supermarket
and the hum of the refrigerator after hours
sounds like a page in the index of heartbreak
—I flip to—
So I compose a letter
to ask permission
for refuge in your mind
I petition the homeowners association
to build a home under your gaze
I give up on your things and
Your bedroom fades from my mind and I
Beckon an institution,
pull out the index of every strain
of petitioning for you
