precarious, on dawn legs, sleep
creaking like a jetty, you lean
from your kitchen window,
with that stoic determination that comes with age.
one by one, you bring in the bird feeders,
each an empty morning lantern,
taking time; filling each with care.
as the sun wheels round 7am, the birds
chatter ‘round the new seeds,
as inside, time hisses to a stop.
adjusting your chair,
you sigh into a breakfast for one.