a Sunday maybe in the middle of June
the light not yet touching the sky-cover with its golden scrim
I lie against his thigh a pillow my pillow borrowable only by the dog
ready as I am to embark lingering though as if just this
day like any other yet too also unique with its own alert
holding though the tag discriminant
a family crest a birthmark the slope of the jaw these distinctively mine all mine
gifts treasures fields of days minable for more
marking life marking time marking travel
a day like any other
I lie against his thigh he stumbles back to sleep
I rise like any other eager
digging my heels counting my steps aiming my heart
pointing to what next
I lie against his thigh