A soft purr from my kettle beckons me and I stumble
to awaken my fingers and toes, as I tumble back into reason.
I purge these useless belongings; bring new shine
and I revel in everything possible and forgotten.
Morning propels me forward into another age, retrospective,
the same sun, or is it, rising closer and setting further away.
A million ways to spend this sunshine, trap it in jars,
singe my garden petals – I choose only to let it sink deep.
He wants the simplicity of his skin today;
I crave the complexity of ink strokes – and we stay in.
The morning breeze moves high tree clusters; a barrier,
and the wind is too weak to rustle these lethargic grass stems and tiny blooms.
We wake from fuzzy dreams, take turns in the bathroom,
boil water and kiss, set down hopeful plans.
My belly swells late with morning overcast, wind overpowers
and sun struggles to land on our shoulders, a bright light constantly cooled.
In the rush of tires, footsteps, and the sound of work – there are birds,
and I carve out a minute to sit in this chair, let these sounds circle outside.
Drowsy leaves bend with the weight of sunlight,
my back stem straightens in the glow of mid-morning summer.