Solitude and Coffee

After a night of rain,
the scent of morning
goes straight

to my heart,
perfumes the quality
of this sweet 

as I wake up slowly
to birdsong.

In moving shafts
of dusted sunlight,
I sip solitude

and coffee
to replenish
this deep well 

of love,
so vital,
so pure,

like the fresh snow
high on the quiet

as the world
turns our bodies
toward the sun.


Tonight, you might
be young
on the darkened

porch alone,
and yet
so very

not alone,
as the wind
rises softly

from the west.
By the scarcity
of pinpricks,

you sense
that clouds
are moving

across the stars,
for the night
is full of change

and the quiet rustle
of leaves on the brink
of letting go.

Perhaps on a Monday

Remember what it is
to wrap your only shoulders
in a soft blanket

and to sit outside
beneath the living moonlight
where everything,

everything is music,
where the shiver
of aspen leaves

from across the arroyo seco
will serenade you
for more than a minute,

less than ten,
and where the whiteness
of the solitary

moon reminds you again
why you will keep stepping,
and stepping,

and stepping through
the doorway and out into
the attainable night.