Trellis

The morning after, our bottle bin overbrims. Time to pretend
we’re anywhere but this living room. Some background:
within hours we’ll disperse into memories, northbound
to the highlands of contacts and twitter friends

we promised to be more than. I wanted a monument –
maybe not – maybe a ritual, a taking up of handsets
for Goldeneye, Mariokart, games we have yet
to encounter and in which we’ll find our contentment –

but it escapes me. Let me try something. Picture this:
a nook between two trees where a crooked, moss-clothed trellis
is now decked-out in autumn gentians, ripened cloudberries,
foxgloves, pennywort, marram grass, all the rest –

this is the clearing I would grow in such a way
that it’s ten minutes’ walk from wherever we
rise from sleep, where we’ll leave crossword clues, takeaways,

candidates for Kiss/Marry/Kill… but let’s move on.
It’s come to my attention that in the time I’ve taken
over these lines, our plans are already in motion.