11/9 (Morning, 2)

2 Feb

I’ll miss the mornings most.

 

Glimpses of a sleepy 6:30 sun

Ribbon the clouds –

slice my window into foggy satin strips,

wake me slowly,

run fabric

over my

eyelids, opening.

 

Quiet grey of my kitchen –

a whisking stillness,

sweeping,

holding furniture in place.

 

My canvas bag drapes over

the shoulder of my table chair,

exactly where I placed it

the night before.

 

I breathe,

boil my kettle for tea,

the familiarity tastes

like earl grey candles

and pancakes.