.
… this shadow drifting
over the wall, and
soft scent of jasmine
under the tick of hot metal
as the sun hits the fence, one
bird shouting crazy
mad bird things, and you
must have the coffee on.
look,
the breeze,
smoothing a sheet
across my arm, hand,
and turning diaphanous
curtains, lace, lightly before
slipping back outdoors.
.
what could this miracle be,
this awareness that I am …
orphan poems 