babyhead

The winter I saw everything.

My mornings are not lit
by the proper light. Lamps
give out soft direction
without complaint.

3 o'clock
on the stovetop
my wristwatch, wound down
trying to keep its place, paces
grudgingly.

Before dawn, the coffee water comes to the boil with optical hesitation.

This I am sure of.

During the night, car doors sometimes freeze shut. Plainly they were tired of staying up.

In this darkness, from our bedroom
You have been known to say
"Let the water run a moment...
it will turn warm."

Then there is my love, which keeps its own pace, a time when it is just
you entering the room
when I am not waiting.