It’s peaceful now. The afternoon is still.
The street is quiet. Voices very dear
Reach up the stairs, caress me like a thrill
From heaven. I am home and you are here.
When I think of the parts I don’t play.
The minuscule oeuvre of my writing career
I look at you...
All the pounding banks and pockets take
Slowly ceases to sound
We chuck the last uneaten Christmas cake...
