SOMETIMES IN THIS WRITING LIFE
On the cherry wood smooth
As kisses table,
Quiet as dust between
The rafters, I spend hours
Wanting for nothing more
Than that dark French coffee
And these American cigarettes.
Between paisley shadows,
Where the chestnut floor meets
My cold feet I sweep
Afternoon’s debris
Into the fire
Just after sunset and stars
Soft in a glow of kerosene,
The black cat curls into my chair…
