You call in the lull of afternoon.
We talk with nothing to talk about.
There is no news.
Today when you rose
I rolled over and wrapped an arm
around the warmth where you used to be.
For breakfast, oranges on a square blue plate.
All morning a quick pen easy in my hand.
That this makes me happy is a simple
and delicate matter:
The cat's fine fur curls to cover
the inner corner of his eye.
