This Morning,

This Morning,

This Morning,

The romance of the world washed over me.
My heart swelled with positive feelings, not œdema.
The forklift out the window beeped I LUV U in Morse code.
 
A curious pigeon molested my birdfeeding contraption.
I pined longingly for my absent biscuits, which had been eaten last week. 
Even the unfriendly cat sensed the fragility of the moment
And refrained from licking its bits. How sweet
 
It was to breathe the sausage-scented air, and feel
The throb of the washing machine like a second heart
Keeping me true. In the garden a host of petunias dangled
And waved their skinny limbs. Oh darlings,
 
Some days are painted with high-saturation pigment, some
Are faint as a blueprint seen from space—today the bees
Are droning a hosanna to wish me bonne journée. 
 
It’s ridiculous to be so full of honey for a living.
It’s ridiculous how ardently the washing machine sings.
Dear pigeon, I used to be a heretic from the world—
Then romance washed over me. I think I might believe.