Let me lay here all morning

the sun is yawning upward

sheets wrapped intimately

between my legs.

I don’t reach for my phone

I don’t want to know

what’s going wrong in the world.

Life is right, here:

my lover set the coffee pot

steam slips beneath

the crack of the bedroom door.

I must ask:

Do you know the delight

of a dog crawling beneath

the covers to curl up,

his pact of protection and love?

How slivers of gold Sun

peek through blinds

like a mother’s voice

cooing: Good morning?

Let me lay here all morning

with the coo of the Sun

steam of the coffee

and curl of my dog.

I have nowhere to go —

life is right, here.


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