Today the damp sill

beads as though

morning knows

to collect its riches

penny by penny.

From here, though,

all is silver; dew,

glass, the slant

of sun which targets

the only window.

The fall of yellow

and purple beyond

the hedge, stems

of flowers that chose

the horizontal.

Late clouds hem

and haw against the sky

at some odd cant,

but no storm comes ...

just a full day,

rich and idle.

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