sitting here as i do every morning
reading poetry and
scribbling nonsense
into my little black book
i feel
a subtle difference
i feel
almost refreshed
the moon passed through
it’s enigmatic phases
eclipsing the passage of night
and something changed
(perhaps the fog was lifted?)

with one crack of golden light
the sky is smeared
with a gray tapestry
shielding us from
the harsh wisdom of the sun
what a perfect morning!

cigarette butts still litter
my concrete steps
and the traffic still composes
its sporadic choruses

the bees are furiously buzzing
trying to gather what little pollen they can
from my dying rhododendron bush
the vines are taking over
strangling the few buds
that still want to bloom

i think this frustrates the bees
it impedes their life’s work
i know how they feel

i’m waiting
waiting for
the earth
to break open
and consume me

today may not be my day
for poetry
but it’s a day
for something
something ripe and new
and at this moment
that’s enough for me