I am up by dawn, or close
to it, again.
thinking this is what true love
is doing; proving habit,
demanding morning study.
this has happened before and
every time it happens,
it is strengthened so much so
that what has woken me is
an old phrase you said to me.
I could hear you fumbling with it;
an act of reflection while in stalemate.
how long can obstinacy maintain the
buoyancy of flight?
I am learning to stay fresh and put
and you are summarizing yourself
with an inaccuracy that doesn’t
need me yet.
I heard you rereading it one morning
to yourself, no doubt
questioning your word choice
as I stretch, be careful what you
but I know what you meant.
and I know what you like.
there are rules to this though.
“the act of naming things”