I’m thinking about you and you’re humming while cutting a piece of wood.



I’m positive you aren’t thinking about me which is fine as long as you



aren’t thinking about yourself. I know and love the way you inhabit



this house and the occasions we mutually create. But I don’t know



the man you picture when you see yourself walking around



the world inside your head and I’m jealous



of the attention you pay that person



whom I suspect



of being devious.





