We sit darkly among the shuffling of the pots
And the murmur of the television

Me and my cozy solitude
A redyellow booth all to ourselves

Grains of couscous have spilled
From the edges of my mouth

On to the plastic tray
Sprinkled with pepper and salt wrappers

I lean back and breathe
Between ambitious morsels.

the tap
and snap of it

shattering the many sides
of the sky

light so tightly twined
and tinted
  
bends along the edge
of autumn fields

early wreaths
of redyellow

on long strings untied
no hint in the wind

no clues hidden
in the clouds

slowly turned
we cross the day unmade

with one last breath
before we wake