Here’s a part of my today.
There’s always dusk,
when the shadows stretch
across the porch
like a splay of soft blankets
A catbird, gray as ash,
will, for a moment, perch
on the railing as it considers
the steam rising from your tea.
You’ll only notice the pine’s perfume,
as fresh as winter, after the bird
is called away: there’s a nest to repair
before the sun is lost, before it’s lost.