poetry

Done

I do not think of you
when the cat sits on the table
watching the birds
on the porch rail
pick at the snow
to find the seed
I set out for them last night

I do not think of you
when the big fish jumps
in the middle of the bay
just before dawn
and scares the hell out of me

breaking the quiet mirror
that carries my kayak
my camera and I
to see the many turtles
on the rock
shoal ledges
a mile away across
the channel

The sky is blue flowing
to purple and then orange
and then morning.
You aren't here.
It wouldn't be fast
enough for you.
You would be hurrying
somewhere to get
something very important
done.