Wind crashes against window, the hoop and holler
of late night jamboree, and god dousing the flames.
He envelopes me in half sleep, waking, wriggled toes
and skin, here, present and far from dreaming.
A character gently disturbed, tug on his arm,
make him stretch out of mind fibers onto a white page.
Disconnected from the world with a slow Internet,
we rub our eyes, wanting Saturday and unable to accept today.
Sun filters through, Sunday still under a thin blanket;
we wait for the cable guy to hook us up, feed us through chewed wires.
Our alarm slept in and he calmly kisses me, fresh from dreaming;
an hour late, and still he hangs back to kiss the cats, look at me.
Uncoiled from sleep, from winter rains, time springs forward –
a rush to work, pump out night and get ready.
A first bird calling, sings to morning light, a tinkling of glasses;
the way we slowly rub one finger along the rim, arouse our eardrums.
Calculating weeks, looking down the growing beanstalk,
and we passed cloud number nine months ago.
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