You've forgotten how to count: start slowly.

Wet nose alarmclock.
He's asleep. His face is calm.
With these, the first days of spring, breathe easy. Breathe deep.

Think about the basil
spicy, savoury, the knife that scored a line of red
along one finger
you rinsed clean, bandaged it.
It was okay. These things happen.

Think about the hours ahead,
in a garden, in a park.
Mina wants walking, Gabrielle wants to play.
Don't think about words exchanged.
Don't put yourself in their place.

Think about the melting heat of a far-off city
in a language you never learnt.
Don't think about seven hours on a plane home.
Don't think about how the key wouldn't turn.

When it gets too much
think about how you can crawl back into bed
his face is calm
and just
not think.