As an Afterthought

Yesterday, by nightfall, after hours of reworking ideas in my notebook, I resented the developing ghazal. It irritated me, as a sore tooth, a constant reminder of an unresolved issue. Throbbing. Waking me up in the middle of the night. Motioning into awareness, out of strange dreams, alien landscapes with foreign suns. • So tonight I purposely ignore the concept. Avoid the notes. Attempting to forget the full point, momentarily. Allow some time to subconsciously rework the full broken bridges of phrases— • At the bottom of the nightstand drawer— a button. Blueblack. Ordinary. Yet. I have no recollection of the shirt it belongs to. Or if I found it on the stairway and just brought it into the bedroom as an afterthought. A casual act instantly forgotten.