its quiet

a morning where the sun and every gold leaf web the sky in silvery threads. this loneliness so precious. every sensation like a marble rolling over my skin: hard, cool glass. the phrases waiting, like children. wait, must wait some more. now hot syrupy coffee in his mug and soon i will rise like the sun to the top of the hill and race down to cadboro bay. learning to bring all the pieces of these days together to a peace, like all the jarring colors of a sunset melting to a glow. a nimbus, like a cradle, fragile as snow.