On a rainy morning like this one,
I only need a simple anguish
and a steaming cup of coffee,
the color of my father's cowhide gloves.
I slowly realize the wealth of my day,
the inert pleasure of nothing to do.
Maybe have a little toast, slicked with jam.
I am thinking dry thoughts around something.
My legs need to stretch, to climb.
They need to march up a hill without a view.
A place to remember some faces
without the distraction of beauty.