ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 4
WHERE I AM/HAVE BEEN
our decisions are so small
they can be scratched on paper
where my pen touches its shadow
memories crop up
a house ruins itself
I stand at the door and knock
for no reason--no matter how closely
I listen who would say enter
are you with me we are here
or rather on my way
by means of travel whose end
I cannot know
when I began I wanted
to write beautifully
later it mattered less
one thing can be offered for another
ruins for words memory for beauty
trespass for come in