The tobacco smell of your coffee
Enveloped me into the house
But the lazy gate of the light pull
Was taunting my late awakening
I listened to where your shoes passed
As you wrestled them onto your feet
And the crumbed remains of your lunch
Scattered by milk-tipped spoons
A house not a home set before me
The detritus of morning routine
An uneasy truce had been called
Now activity distilled into peace
Could I hear your echoed instructions
That swept children out to the car?
Or was my mind still wrapped up for transit
Through a night that ended too fast?