I Sit

This poem plunked into my head at 6:08 this morning and I wrote it down:

I sit,
Glistening in bug spray,
Listening to the wires
Crackle in the night-steam
And the garbage truck
Churn its dirty work,
The willow around me,
And I’m as close to Holy
As I’ll ever be.

Your turn: a poem, if you choose, about the start of your day.*

* Good, bad, short, long, punny, ribald, emo, po-mo, bro-mo**, limerick, haiku, sonnet, rondel, doo-wop, hip-hop—all is fair in love and early-morning poetry.

** “Bro-mo”: I just made that up. (You can use it but you have to cite me.) It’s when bros (dudes) get really po-mo (post-modern) together.

Louise made a recursive (one might say "fractal-like") origami samurai helmet, a large one made from a piece of poster-board, plus little-ones made from the remnants. Love it.

June, soccer warm-up

iPhonin': Man in red sweater with black tie. Story?

Lady in red hat and jacket. Story?

Man under tree, looking at moon. Story?

Woman in green sweater with yellow stripes. Story?

Man in green, with white and red tie. Story?

Lady in pink. Story?