Morning lights across the roofs
to the tanks and windmills that
mark the nearest edge of the sea,
a little strip of gray and blue
tucked behind a trio of smokestacks
The morning after a daughter’s wedding
of which I was both a part and somehow separate
and everything was beautiful all the same
because of the way they smile at each other…
leaning into a day of ‘who knows what?’
Reflections through glass into what
might even be emptiness, a morning cup
of crappy hotel coffee waiting to be done with:
to be within something that no one else, even you,
can, or should, make themselves too large a part of
And love it for what it is.
7/19/2014
