Afternoon Poem

I built a fort of blue ribbons
so you could enjoy it, live in it,
and feel like you came in first place
even when you didn't show up
or have a hand in my
anxiety which is growing dimmer
as the light changes we speed off.
It's raining in Brooklyn so the roses
look droopy from the ledge
where the pigeons are making
those sounds that wake us up.
I don't ache so much as I've started
to shuffle in and out of the kitchen
throat in my hands slipping into
something delicate and whispery
most of the night. That's what I like
even as day changes to night.
I measure my desire in the lists
I keep of things I do when you're not here.
It's so simple and pure being a New Yorker
but not so clear as the day began.