All The World Is An Isle On Tuesday

 All the world is an isle on Tuesday
whether we are recovering still or
searching the aromas of a weekend
We fall into the bed, loose sacks
limber with impalpable tastes
drawing faces on the window
when it rains our breath to fog
You are a slow train & I hear
you rumble away to sleep
as I shift into small places, my arms
always awkward at the wrong angles
I do not know I am sleeping
until I awaken to timed coffee
ribboning its way to my bed
I am restless, wondering where
I have been & how long vulnerability
slept on my pillow
It is a magic of sorts, always, the way
morning slenders through the blinds
while the dog paces the kitchen
worried by hunger & the outdoors
so close he can smell it
And you are not here in this moment
when the silence sings
and the rain is meddling some place
I am a huddle with coffee
on one end of the couch, watching
morning through the window
waving her banners in daybreak

Reviews

[Adam Whitworth]

I like it!

[Tara]

I see morning is inspirational for you. I am a fan of dawn as well. It seems you live in a beautiful place or at least that is what your writing conveys.

[Ken Simm.]

I can see this as a painting. Why I don't know. It is a sort of Larry Rivers peculiarly American type of painting. Needless to say it is yet another piece of wonderful poetry. The fact that I can see it is a testament to its quality

[Ed Hart]

this falls into the category of 'real' poetry, which we don't do a lot of around here...the title is a piece of genius

[Samuel Dickens]

You weave the seemingly ordinary and mundane into a soothing balm for the soul. Morning time, rain and hot coffee--does it get any better?