May Morning

I don't doubt that something beautiful waits.

That May morning, the bedroom windows open, the warm breeze kissing my skin and the sound of that bird I love so much somewhere in the trees. I'll have nothing to do. I'll have nowhere to be. I'll open my eyes. I'll smell your hair, whoever you are. I'll breathe the moment in and I won't ever be able to appreciate it for its value. I'll try.

The air on my skin.

The birdsong in my ear.

The open day.

You, whoever you are.

I'll linger in bed then get up and make coffee and put a Leonard Cohen record on and take a cool shower. I will feel no weight. I will feel no shame. I will feel no blame.

The water on my skin.

The music in my ear.

The contentment.

Dry off. Pick through the fridge and eat an orange. I'll bring one for you, whoever you are. You'll be awake, lying in bed and looking at me and smiling only a little.



I don't doubt that something beautiful waits.

It has to.

It has to.