the end of the day

after work,
after helping and walking and running, and wanting
to leave
I leave,
finally,
and after work I go home.
I wander around my small apartment,
adjusting careful organization carefully,
tidying the tidied, and cleaning the dirty
dishes.
I wipe down the walls, and the floors,
and wash the laundry, and when there is no more laundry
I fold it and refold it
and finally put it away.
At last, I sit down,
and surrounded by the emptiness, I sigh deeply,
just to hear the sound of it.
I count the number of lines that make up the shape of the doors
and the two windows in the room;
then I imagine the kitchen window, and I count those lines too.
Finally, with music on,
or news from the radio,
I lay down on this couch,
head back, hair draped over the arm,
my arm draped over my head,
and I concentrate on the noise
to keep from thinking
of you.