At my window

I am waiting for the sun to come up
impatient–loving my night–but
also missing the sun–
(don’t tell the other mushrooms)
the memory of that warmth
on my skin on my body on my face
shining and new–every morning
a new start–to bulldoze
the old foul-ups

A car goes by and I wonder
where he is going
if the scent of my coffee
wafts into his window
and he wishes he were still
breakfasting reading plotting–
still–I’ll be busy soon–after
this moment
when the sun first burns
the surface of the lake

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8 thoughts on “At my window

  1. Before it is daylight in the winter I sit in my living room with no lights on drinking coffee. I know it is 6:30 when the outdoor light at hardware store on the street behind me comes on and casts its beam on my ceiling.

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