The sun wakes through haze.
A timid breeze ruffles golden tree tops.
The day looks for direction,
Searches for the moon long gone,
As finches silently fleet
From one branch to the next,
And gulls swim aimlessly
Through a dirty sky
Sullied by lies and broken souls.
Shaded alliums and shy freesias
Wait for dappled sun, impatient,
Swaying and tossing about dew
To bless a weary soil.
While frogs seek concealment,
The white and yellow blossoms
Hope for bees,
For butterflies, for joy
In their sheltered garden.
Mourning doves argue, claiming a space,
Cooing madly their rights,
Until exhaustion or boredom.
The Med winks, tantalizing,
All her silver spread in the bay,
Beyond tree trunks and wavy tiles.
The sun draws parallel lines on my paper;
The coffee cup is empty,
The bitter and sweet swallowed,
Drunk, if not quite digested.