Thank you for shelter, the blanket of morning. Of this morning. When first frost found naked earth, or when you found that one shade tree in the desert of last summer. Sun like a knife blade, now the reluctant release of pain, those precious moments when it goes away. Do you still remember having such moments? 

Sitting and writing on the dining room table,
I want to tell you what it is to be alive,
the yellow oilcloth table takes the imprint