Fancy

Narrative is identity for example
the roof over the building I live in
just lifted a bit and slammed back down
fast enough for me to notice
the sherbet light and icy wind.
It is Friday, no
it is a day like any other day
doors slam, the alarm is set
and someone is firing up the skillet
while droning on about poetry and history.
Me, I'm in the sheltered throes
of no. Better than not being
and I do mean being. I think
therefore I swear I'm not letting
the day go by without a glimpse
of the ones I love. It is fancy
holding someone past their bedtime
cradling a head and then realizing
that head is my own.