All hollow things fill, all full cups
empty. This morning, was a different morning
where I saw the sunray
the color of linen
in a clean and swept house
and a bed that had been slept in.

Calm rising, bare feet felt moving
and the sensations of carpet, ladder rung, cool tile.

Only the lonely
can these broken lines hold,
the hair has grown but is also falling out
and the house finch shadows roll
on a carousel of feed, fly, sing, rest.

Restful morning. No sickness. No vomit
in the bowl, no blanket stained with
the humoralism of agonies,
green trees
leaves below
a hand finds my hand in a soft place
and I see a sleepy eye, break out in a smile.