Her side of the bed's
warm as a hug
she just left for work
closing the door like a book
I'll later pick up
and lose myself in
in the pages of her return.
For our lives are written
one little word at a time,
line by line,
chapter after chapter.

Cat spat out a baby bird
deader than a drunk's promised word
broken from the maw
only a little blood, no more.  
Could've cried a little
as I scooped it up from the door
into a dandoline dust pan
before the kids saw.
The cat did what cats do
I wasn't angry with it as it pawed
my ankle expectantly seeking a reward

The tree's now fleshed out
with leaves
shushing the wind's passion,
                                      'be with me'
moaning sighs to its lover
sway and stretch of torso and limbs
heart pulses
vibrating root deep
                                         'always'