With luck, as the trees
hold pages of light
in outstretched limbs

I manage another day―
touching the smooth white skin
of the stove

blinking away shards of sleep.
The pale countenance of the drapes
shines in the bare room

while through the window
each leaf paints its shadow
on a neighbor’s mildewed roof.

Then the hiss of tapwater,
whir of a coffee grinder
and my cat purring

gems of sound
as she pads the dim lit floor
where we once walked.

The study window
presents an alternate view–
where I stare absently, writing

a name on my palm
as the pen spills ink like twilight
scented by earth

over my life line
so by the time I look up―
it’s halfway to noon.

The kettle’s bare, cat’s sleeping,
dew’s drying on the eaves―
each drop large enough

to mirror the oaks
spanning the neighborhood,
holding all of my thoughts

on their curved surface,
tinted yellow and green
like your hazel eyes.