Breakfast I conned a muffin from the kitchen table
Sought some daylight and peace in the ruffling shadow
Of our clothesline.
Later I undid the necklace of white cotton shapes
One by one in the fading day
A quiet rhythm.
The tight rope
At night stands empty
Too slim to support a moonbeam.
Slender space through shutters reveals
Another morning, another mother
Stringing slips until the sag sets in.