Balance

It’s September in Pennsylvania,
noon & I am in bed. The clouds guard
the sun like an overprotective brother.
The water is cold, the sun’s lover in need of her
warm glow. These days my dog is my alarm, his mellow

whimpers pull my sight from black to light
& I know I must rise. In the kitchen, my feet
crack open the silence as I make coffee
with unfiltered water & filterless—
your disapproving eyes slice my back
with a butter knife, but you aren’t here.

By the water’s edge, I become a bird & perch
on the smallest rock. Under my weight, it tips.
The lake swallows my coffee. With the rhythm
of the waves, the ceramic fragments kiss the rock
below me. It makes me think of you.