Katherine's Coffeehouse

This vivid morning, owl still howling a dirge into another daytime, I am reminded of you,

Let me tell you what I brought:

And in the shadow of yesterday,

Can you still manage to care for the vulnerable?

And it occurs to me that the throat of sunrise has more than a singular sermon,

Ever have a morning where everything seems to bother you? Where coffee filters conjoin like slurwords, and not even your longest thumbnail can separate what has become what?

When sometimes you paint a door because you’ve left it too long,

they march in, four by four by four, each

I’m looking at the details. The smaller picture. Minutia of goose plume,

What I’m not thinking about is the lawn mower,