kitchen mornings Ξ

silence saran wraps the morning,

thinning to the snapping point
shining
drops of condensation
inappropriately touch,
spark, within.

With the tug and cling of plastic,
I, a sudden messiah
burst across the cellophane sea,
in a strange silence that forgets to fade and
unwrap the next dozen hours.

Perhaps now a thief
walks on the pillowed air
and outside, a feather suspends
a youthful miracle, cobwebbing light.

So pan down for a moment,
drag surprised fingerprints across an invisible floor,
ripple, rising droplets, reflection colors remain,
in an air tinged with rising blue

and the smell in that synaptic coil,
forces unexplained, untouched,
refreshing.

With tactile struts against the rusting skyline of a cupboard shelf,
feel breath from breath, epicurean leaves sighing against
a lucent glass they can’t draw hearts on.

Their plastic freedom seems like a gleam of frigid light, but really
is the fogging mirror’s experience
of a radiant crayon sun.

Ξ

One thought on “kitchen mornings Ξ

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