It’s Those Sounds That Wake the Heart
The microwave warms yesterday’s coffee,
a swirling hum like singing honey bees,
and I hear him. He’s up. The floorboards
upstairs creak, speak underfoot,
and then the soft scuff of his slippers.
In the hall. In the kitchen.
He makes his way. It is a good morning.
A kiss. A touch. Soft as rain … of us.
Does rain make a sound when it falls?
Can you hear love when you’re caught?
Breakfast’s on the table, I say.
And there’s not a still thought
within my merry glance, here where I
spend my days in his habitable heart.
For Phoenix Rising “sound of love”