These are the words that own each day
before the sun slips through the willow
tree, a kettle whistles to the lark.
A child is speaking, friends across
the sea seem close; your neighbor
enters bringing bread. You look up
at our portraits, choose a book, open
the drapes to let the sun come in.
Keep listening. I love you; past and
present prove another day is possible
because love holds and keeps us true.