My Fitful Aubade
If I lived in the present,
I’d have slept.
Half brain, half rattle.
The fizzy air of the present
could make my car new, earth
streaming toward me, under my wheels,
no need for gas, right here in the present.
I’d cancel the bank, blueberry
pancakes for all.
It was rain that woke me, summer dark.
Praise to the red shelf.
I have A History of Housework on hold.
I’ve read The Art of Practicing.
Summer thunder, lightning
faster than the net,
smaller than its holes.
What will I do
with the cabinet’s extra drawers?
Talk to me, prayers, talk to me.