Saturday, August 15, 2015

Busy Day, His

A busy day for
him begins with his
waking up at five.

He celebrates that
feat with a cup of
dark-roasted coffee.

With the brew in hand
he sits—still, silent—
till the light of morn.

Then he moves to meet
the day’s eye rising
to greet him with words.

The heart open wide,
he means to say what
he sees, to full term,

all found lingering
in the lane, alone
but for his own mind

empty, so alert
to any movement . . . 
the slightest wonder.

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