Tom Bennett – Morning Ritual

A man parleys with dust motes
over space his former bulk had occupied
till recent. Haemorrhaging thoughts
faster than she can gather them, his wife takes him
an empty mug across a chequered floor. Marriage
this last year has been Rorschach-stained,
the way all unattended things can tend one way
or another. One way: she’s three steps from him.
Another: two
                     three
               two
                     three
               two.