On Mornings

A season of impending Winter
Brooding mornings
Waiting for sunlight
How long must we wait
beneathe the ashen sky

Your naked body covered
by thin sheets
I hear you breathe quietly
in perfect stillness of morning
I cannot sleep again
So I sit and listen
rather than wake you

An empty nest in the branches
of the tree No fluttering wings
back and forth to this former home
Mother and chicks since departed

Another day
Another night
How easy it is
How difficult it is
to face it all once again

Habit

Wake up early
Think
Write
Write
Think
Write
Look out the windows
Birds singing
Sun
Think
Write
Write
Write