326. August mackerel sky
my little friend and I
savour the silence of the creeping dawn
red and gold and blue
when even the birds are not yet rested
enough
it’s a lovely morning
so still and soft
so gentle on the eye out here
not a breath
still warm from yesterday’s sun
that left the roses, the grass
content;
the sweet hot tea
my little friend’s embrace
floats away
and I light another
and wait for the drugs to kick in: no rush
– our moment drifts
I bask in every sip
knowing my bed waits
as she breathes softly there,
& the knitting needle
finds it’s mark
beneath the cast.