5:52 am

I
the coffee pot is on for you, my love.
i started it as the sun dripped in,
its fingers stroking your eyelids
in childlike delight.
i will spend every winter’s morning
sitting still against the wood framed house,
holed in against snow, kindling in the fire untimed.

II
it hurts me to pull my boots on.
i’m preparing to part from you—
straightforward enough to slide them up
but the lacing, my dear, the lacing!
how could i ever move to leave you
for just one single day
when doing so melts me to the edge of myself.

III
you show me what love is
the aching morning i wake up sick.
spreading like fire under my horizon.
you hide your own face,
your arthritic hips, knees jolting
as you push yourself up
to return with a cold washcloth.

IV
the dream was about you, my dear.
they always are, always.
how we held our hands together in prayer
every morning before breakfast.
how you held me through the night
when my spirit was weary.
how i used to wake you up
in the cold, dark morning
with a cup of coffee, 
just how you like it.