Morning Poem, April 25, 2017

This morning the quiet fills the house

And lays on the floor

And streams through the windows

Nothing moves

And I sit and watch and listen

And see into this old house

Its floors and walls and hallways,

Once grand.


Who lived here before?

And did they know mornings

Of flowers and music

And coffee and bacon and eggs

Did they watch their children grow

And then catch a train to somewhere?

I heard that Duke Ellington

Wrote his best music

In the mornings

When the door to his hotel room was open

And he could hear the maid’s vacuum cleaner

Somewhere down the hallway

Then the morning breathed

And everything inside him relaxed

That’s what I feel now

Touching all that is invisible and left over

From all that was visible and has gone,


copyright 2017

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