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

No Wonder We're All Going Deaf

Sound clutters every moment of your life.
The shrill sound of the alarm clock
screams into action.
Warm feet patter along cold tile
a muted pressing of flesh.
In the shower water cascades
around you, caught in your own personal
downpour of ritual cleanliness.
The hairdryer blows its hot air at you,
it almost looks like a miniature jet turbine.
The kitchen is a symphony
as toast pops, bacon and eggs sizzle
on the skillet and orange juice
and milk pour easily into their glasses.
Your shoes play a rhythm
called a steady walk.
Doors slam shut,
keys jangle, engines
sputter then roar,
this is just the beginning.