I hide my hands from my lover
Dripping in apple’s wine
The season is now morning
And you do not harvest
I shall pick the fruit
Forgotten by my lover
I shall reap the rewards
Of the farmer’s labor
Dance across the leaves
That shine with dew
Hop along the river
A trail you once knew
My window blinds squint out a slit of light.
No one can tell the view from here but me.
I see the June cherry tree out there, on the other side
holding bouncing chickadees that peck at branch aphids.
I hear the roof-spine morning seagulls barking orders
—when pushed off swiftly by rumble-crows for turf!
The rustle-bush below my pane shelters raccoons shaking soft
Without a sound, regal-mother deer and spotted twins walk
down the middle of the path towards breakfast.
I walk with them in my mind, think of oatmeal and coffee.
Then, tuck my leg back under the covers a little longer.
~Shannon P. Laws