I like the quietness of the kitchen
very late at night, when I am almost
the last one awake. I put away dishes
and wipe down the counter. I sit
at the table to finish the coffee
that remains in my cup, making
lists for what I still need to do
in the morning until I realize
it is already morning.
The clock continues its steady
parcelling out of the hours: not
doubling forward, not going back.