What do I wish? For now, enough time
to see the long grass bending under day-
long rain and decide it is time to go
into the kitchen where I can knead
something with my hands: flour and some
water; salt, oil, a handful of rosemary—
Enough time put the kettle on to boil,
to plant one dried tooth of anise
in the stew to help me remember
to dream; to lay one extra plate
for the one who isn’t here.
And even then night falls,
day slips away, restless as this
body craving respite: languid
thoughts, elusive sleep.