1278

stack of books
beside the bed
a measure of time
and immeasurable solitude
a little solipsism to ease
the morning light
make the coffee stains
and dreams of standing outside
a little more bearable

crash and a fall
a tower of roses
blooming and careening
with the gentleness of a mother’s
first touch
a sight
between the haze of sleep
some place to hang the jackets
hats and scarves of a life
well lived
fulfilled in the heart and mind
fulfilled from the seesaw cry
bouncing down the stairs
bouncing between the bars
of the crib in the nursery

I listen to the rain
the clatter of
soft fingernails on the porch roof
picture her chest
rising
and the quick
erratic kick of her legs
as she descends to that
tireless world of sleep

I push myself from my knees
stretch then kneel down once more
during the only hours I call mine

I open a book and try
not to think of the carrier pigeon
who lost my letter
blame that digital bird

and then I realize
I’m tethered to the phone

hoping

page turn
rose fall