Mary in the Morning
Nothing quite so extraordinary as the warm yellow sun
Leaning back and facing your gaze from the breakfast plate --
Well, you called it your breakfast plate but it was still a little dirty with the Remnants of last night's dinner, and lunch and breakfast before that, half sopped up,
As you would eventually try to mop some of that wondrous runny yolk with the crusts Of your egg sandwich, bits of flax and rye inevitably flaking off onto the plate:
What day was it?
Any of the above,
Neither of us
Keep up with
In a hazy half-
The likes of which no man who lived only one life has ever seen.