Early, at first light, first thought, a space. A gap. A pause. I’m permitted the brief length of a breath to believe you’re only a dream.
Sometimes you sleep late, demanding the sheets, edging me out. Sometimes you get up early and make coffee. Regardless, I’m obliged to entertain you.
Dear loss, my low-grade fever. Soft blow with a blunt object. Empty dinner plate. Passive intruder. Frequent contributor. New black. Dear loss, slowly unfolding wonder, leave me.
Loss, be a different color. Make yourself new again. Compose another line. Let’s forge a deal. I’ll put on a fresh dress, maybe linen. You say something else. Something else entirely.