the lost day

you drift dreamily through
the morning,
careful on the ice,
buying coffee that you could
just as easily make at home.
going somewhere, going nowhere.
there is milk to buy.
bills in a snow pile
on the table
next to the folded towels.
you ease your way through
the hours, you graze the dry
pages of paper,
stare at a book, not letting
the words take hold.
you wander through the woods,
your feet hardly
touching the ground.
someone walks by and doesn't
say hello.
it's a lost day
and it's only three p.m., so
much more to go.