here

in the sun
a blue bowl
with remnants
of silk
soymilk
pink handle
spoon
jutting out
in jousting motion
at the box of
more
i drink the scene
of boy returning
learning
on-line
spanish
doing
homework
alongside
his
poetic
mother
we are both
drinking
each other
a little
bit
in

a habit of morning

on good days
i wake up
to see the owl
cut the sky from the earth
and the dawn
leave its orange
in her wake
i step down the seven steps
to the wide open doorway
move the leaded glass rainbows
aside
and loop
a magic loop
greeting deer
and turkeys
rabbits
and what is left
of the snakes
i say hello
to the sacred oak circle
i step through the portal
into the magic
just beyond my patio
and wander willingly
accompanied by spirits
of dead and alive things
i love
i go off
on a sentimental journey
into deep magic
and emerge
with feathers
from dreams
i return
to the light of the world
the love in my home
crack open the eggs
and call my children
to the table
for breakfast

every good morning
i remember
this
is
love

better than sex

separated by an overflowing tray
egg white omelette
texas toast
blueberry jam
a beautiful bowl of quartered oranges
and their carcasses, processed on the empty plate
on the other side
of the tray
a tipping bowl of popcorn
a waiting cheese tray
the sunday paper
the box of oj
we are settled in
under the warm gift of blanket
watching bad english comedians
with bad french accents
and sometimes german ones
as we watch the ww2 farce
"ello, ello"
sated
we turn our backs toward one another
and dream
sleepily returning
to that rest
we'd never have allowed ourselves
when we were twentysomething
and single
but now, this
sunday morning
sans children
married bliss
really is
better than sex