I have 
my wear
chair my
hungry hamper
and my
clean closet
besides on
me this 
is where
what I 
wear fares

Oh I know 
soon to hear
the familiar clank
of fry pan 
on stove top 
like some trolley 
of soon eggs 
broken and fried 
and the saw
of the knife 
through woody bread
and the leap
to life as
toast pops up 
and heavy plates
that quickly skate 
across and by
butter and jam
such are sounds
of a breakfast 

Love is
a ferryman 
who helps 
you cross
from one 
shore to
another never 
meant to 
last longer 
than is
needed to 
get you 
to the 
next place 

Being grateful 
even for 
what isn’t 
is the
only pathway 
to being 
peaceful with 
what is 

A murder 
of crows
caw angry
about something 
daylight maybe 
their cackles
echoed by
people in
passing cars