I’ve been practicing presentness
in all the traditional ways: pulling

my regular socks all the way up
to the knee, cutting away all my

chin hair every week day and apologizing
to the house plants. The weather here

of course is different: mid-autumn
and no apples on the tree, still hot

like the middle of July. At night
my sink clutters up with roaches

they gather at the water droplets
and left over ketchup like a small

god. I thought I’d learn a lot
about myself living in this extended

silence, the way to slow down my
breath before sleep, where the mess

tends to congregate. How long I can stand
in the doorway waiting to be let in.