The Next Step

A low wind without voice

brushed the small third story

window where she looked out.

The ocean, not far away, lay clam

like a lion dreaming of the hunt.


Her bed, unmade.  Covers tossed,

evidence of nights trappings and

the places in-between. 


She whispers a psalm from waking

lips.  Coffee completes the eyes

to fully open as thoughts ruggedly



On a card table, scattered photos,

wrinkled and faded speak of

her past.  The sun cuts an

angle onto the back wall.  Her

cat purrs.  The day begins as she

steps from the room.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s