excavation.

the house is quiet before dawn

ashes in the fireplace 

and remnants of dinner in the sink

tepid glass of diluted scotch on the coffee table

I reach out to touch the wilting flowers

coffee is beginning to brew while

I stoop and peer upward

millions of stars and the same black sky

for a moment I forget where I am

I am climbing a tree before sunrise

listening for the coyotes

I am 2300 miles away, running at 4:00 a.m.

icy air biting my face and  hands

I am driving 65 mph south to Boston

lost in the sea of banality

and the clock continues to tick

I check the time and exhale

the quarry is loneliness

as I pour your cup of coffee

I wonder if a light will be on upstairs

and why we try to kill each other

before we kill ourselves

© 10.27.2014 heather brager