Whatever you thought you wanted here –
clean sheets, nail scissors, book –
has slipped your mind completely
like the name of a cousin at a wedding
three times removed.
The trick is not trying to remember,
to hover in the doorway at a loss,
a visitor among the things of the world.
There will be no words
for what comes back to you then –
call it a kind of stillness, rarely entered,
which could be its own reward
like the scent in a drawer of folded scarves,
or a bed not slept in since winter.