Wash every dish and empty out the rack.
Fold or hang each garment with the care
that it prefers. Tell yourself the air
is sweet to your skin. Exercise the knack
which you attempted to abandon. Crack
an egg and eat what it becomes. Wear
a pendant. Clean the bathtub. Wash your hair.
Drink water. Leave your bed. Do not go back.

Remember all the soggy, blurred-out days.
Remember what you know: this is such stuff
as life is made on, which could pass you by
again, which has devised so many ways
to leave you. Make that memory be enough.
It won’t be. It may never be. Try.