I rinse the glass twice and stack it on the rack
the kettle screams at half past four
you left your keys on the counter again
I slide them to the edge of the door
this is not a storm
this is just the weight
of a hand that knows
where the cups go
stop the clock now
I count the change inside the drawer
the kettle screams at half past four
and I am not running anymore
the dog pulls the leash toward the wet grass
your coat is still warm on the chair
the streetlight throws a yellow glow across
the puddles I have walked through twice
a stranger on the bus folds a block seven
holds a paper bag with one egg tart
he does not look up he does not speak
but his thumb taps the window glass
stop the clock now
I count the change inside the drawer
the kettle screams at half past four
and I am not running anymore