Aubade with Mr. Coffee and Commute

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for an animal     even as simple as us to happen

everything must go right     the proper elements

and uninterrupted swaths of time     endured alone

it is the same for every object     random as a scarf

the necessary parts first harvested     then freighted

over depth and surface     this is why at 7 AM

we are awake     with important papers arranged

across a castoff desk     turns out we are capable

though no one else seems to think so     the shower’s

temperature is scalding     and the towels smell nice

and the leak in Mr. Coffee     doesn’t spoil a thing

it’s just spilled water     that will face its irrelevance

with a kind of dignity     I am carrying these latent

thoughts of you     along the morning’s tributaries

into the immediacy     of what we all agree is spring

to unpack the archive of my hips     and practice

how to hold them     now that you’ve finally taught me

to unearth their embarrassment     of particular riches

I am whispering to myself open     I am thinking tulips

there is still some stray talk     of destiny and prayer

along the kingdom of the privacy fence     but for now

it’s only talk     at this early hour the light can seem

one way to me     then suddenly can seem another

and in that window of transition     I sometimes think

that what I want is not impossible     the conditions

for our happiness     might come to acquiesce with us

and raise a bridge of meaning     over the commute

for only you and I     to settle for all time the question

of our finest evenings     fading into any other day