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(x = space)

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Let Me Tell You about My Day

(first hour or so)

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Pre-dawn

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Blue

And if you look into it,

A promise of silver

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In a while,

The mourning doves might call

Take over for the cardinals

And the robins

Who might be louder elsewhere

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The doves

Sing us into green

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Town noise might subsume

The outside sounds

(except the doves who

are right against the window)

Except that it is Sunday

So the morning

Should be

Relatively quiet

For nature’s sentineling

And mine

We’ll find out

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As for other senses,

Touch and smell and taste

Should have their turns

You might

Guess at the prospects

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There’s still a war

Two wars, three wats

Still a virus

Many viruses

People will die today

And people will be born into

Air-breathing life

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I’m a little late

Proposing all of this

Because the coffee cup

Slipped from my hand

And all the coffee

Slid

Down the down the

Sides of everything,

Flat surfaces

And cushioned

(a play of surface tension

and of gravity),

To land upon the floor,

Most of it

Slight sweet

More creamy than sweet

An expensive brand

Though not a kind

More dear

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So I took time to

Clean the mess:

To clear out things,

Take things

To the sink

Where I’ll deal with them,

Sponge and paper towels

And cleaner for

The rest, for the floor

Now things have to dry

Then to be

Cleaned again

And there’s more coffee

To take out from

Its machine

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Sigh,

One of those days

And what does that mean?

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I see

The blue

And sense a silver promise

Like new friends

In a scouters’ song

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I reckon now

You’ll have a day to survey

Finally

Of many hours

I’ll look forward to any

Of that story that

Might come my way

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C L Couch

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Before Dawn

Photo by Tao Yuan on Unsplash

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