“late cup“
day thins on toothy edges,
each request arrives, softening contours.
Still, hands move in steady patterns,
carrying out what the moment asks
while the inner field settles
into quieted grain.
each request arrives, softening contours.
Still, hands move in steady patterns,
carrying out what the moment asks
while the inner field settles
into quieted grain.
a cup waits on the bench,
its position unchanged,
holding a small shift of light
as the room adjusts around its rim.
shoulders follow that adjustment,
working through each hour
with the same steady mutedness.
corridor air congregates
in slow stepping gait,
walls leaning into familiar stillness.
a hooked cloth stays where it was,
offering a point to return to
as the day moves in lowered light,
each motion calibrating toothed whispers
of what can be carried.
.
