How we will do our usual thing,
Key it into the system of a day.
Children love patterns of any kind
But find it difficult to swim in pairs.
Ruthless, caffeine-blind, we shove
through galleries and museums.
The haunting moment of the song approaches:
The apples swell as they drink sweet water.
"We must renounce these traditions," you say,
"Lest our eyes grow dry with thirst."
I do not hold exits; I give you what I hold.
A poem: clothing pieced from detritus
Of this, most fragile of the perfect worlds.
Held together with a thread of breath.
Note: 'The apples swell as they drink the sweet water' : Pablo Neruda, from Sonnet V in Cien Sonetos de Amor (100 Love Sonnets).