It is an itch you can barely reach,
a taste for — I can’t quite remember–
lemon? vanilla? lavender?–
a name you can nab the first letter of, only.

It is a kitten rolling over to show belly,
it is new clothes that knock out the old.
It is squeaking a hinge open
and stepping through.

Too long have I sat in the stadium lot,
eavesdropping on concerts I haven’t given —
too long have I wallowed in words
originated outside of me.

This time — more than a list
of productivity projects 
seeking that seductive tic.
This time, I will answer.