Table set for breakfast; one spoon, one knife.
No more melon. Too many quadrants.
No hummingbird seen since….
Large space on the white paper.
No singalong heard with the Irish group.
I wake up holding the pillow.
Hard candies still in the bowl.
Still-life of eggshell and empty cup.
Far less trash.
Glue sticks and scissors found everywhere.
Wallace Stevens waits. Your bookmark.
The poem I didn’t write for our anniversary.
Opening a book with your underlining. Why this paragraph?
Your pink eraser.
Those days I squandered.
Too much space in the closet.
Old cards saved, what did you mean by that last line?