Good Evening!

This cold day is coming to a close. We shared a lovely day, warmed by the fire,  and dining out.   I spent a good deal of the day under the most beautiful, warmest, coziest quilt ever made, and it was made  just for me.   I received it yesterday, and I am like a bird in a nest as I sleep under the safety of it's wings.  The woman who made it for me enclosed a poem which I would love to share with you, but I need to run it by her first.  I see that my attempts at poetry are opening you up, to the poetry in you, and how very wondrous it is. 

I offer my morning poem, though now it is evening. I have gone from the moon in the sky to darkness now, and the moon will appear again.

Coffee, Waffles, and Ink

The morning begins
with the white light of the moon.
I fill the pot with water,
spoon the coffee in,
and push the button.
I mix flour, baking power, sugar,
soda, and salt,
add eggs, vanilla,
butter, oil, and milk.
I pour a portion of the batter
into the waffle iron,
and watch it rise and steam,
content in its division of squares,
that connect.
That is when ink says I am here
to record,
and I say,
not now.
I want to watch butter melt
with syrup,
like willows with streams -