Evenings transition seamlessly
into soft, leisurely days,
as if driving beneath a bridge
during a heavy rain storm,
pebble fall of rain stops.
We are gently tucked away,
delicious combination ingredients
imagined for our next meal,
coupled with my imagination sliding about you,
the way you quietly unwind, slip off your wool scarf
at the end of a resplendent rainy day.
During these moments, meals are taken
at different times than the usual quotidian
quarter-time queues directing
the working days' structured hours.
I surmise time’s delightful stairwell,
lovely pots of red geraniums and yellow lilies lacing
each step, delicate lavender violets and brilliant blue
morning glory's winding their way
about this rail to which I eagerly cling.
No, these hours follow no mapped-out regimen
resonating even remote routines. Stress is brushed
from the tresses of our tired and taxed souls,
replaced by an iridescent shimmer of simple contentment,
its breath fresh with appreciation not for what was or what will be,
but for what is now, the present moment tasted
before it dissolves,