If you didn’t write that note
misplaced on my bed
then fluttered to the floor
as the shuttered windows of shops opened and I washed,
who chose that scratchily inelegant expression in pen?
Where are you then,
more to the point,
how about now,
Why are there bullet holes in the headboard,
why reel-to-reel tape,
used, I suppose, to record a lucid non-sequential dream?
Will I go searching streets, and come back with bread
wrapped in the news
of this note
shall my mission be to find you first,
(before I get dressed?)