One
Day Morning
The last
turn of your key
drops precisely onto
the tiles of the corridor
which is really a half
corridor with a room attached
but you can’t dig half a
hole either
It drops
and with the
echo of a broken plate
in a restaurant
wrings silence from
this morning-to-be
I’m still
working hard
at dreaming and
a sudden roll takes me
back into the undertow
where the pictures
flicker like starlight
through the sheet-waves
and I might be
Gasping
awake
pierced by sunbeams
that found Achilles
in the curtain-spaces
Or stretching
out
a yawn to fit
reality like a familiar
sock
Or blinking
morning
morse-code
S.O.S
to an indifferent ceiling
but actually
I’m a screen-door
sliding on a predetermined
path to coffee
and the drip-filtered
taste of approximate
time
Watching
the shadows
counting the hours
in catnaps on the patio
or rug or dresser
or anywhere that fur
can drift and settle
Like the
season which
I didn’t see
coming
once again
Still
four amber leaves
are hardly poetry
today
with the
road
so straight
and words like
roadkill-to-be
waiting to cross.
Copyright © 2001 Josh Garden
