he is awake. I, half-hungover, hear him say
What do people do on a Sunday?
while scratching fake blood threads
stuck to the knit of his chin

And I remembered when my dog died
my parents called I left the house
walked wet circles through town
on my last loop realised
boys looked better
when they were the heat by my feet
and I wanted to keep wandering
but I didn’t have a job
and the library was shut
and I had already finished
four rounds of the park on my own.