A break in the day,
the busy, tired,
overworked, underpaid,
relentlessly content
day:

a meal for a weary traveler,
a ticket for the last train out,
a few letters to familiar strangers.

(I’m not the only one
putting thoughts on paper
here.)

The scene is a quiet stage
at mid-afternoon and all
the actors want breakfast.

A high wall of glass panes
extends an invitation to
the grey breeze,
the restless sky;

she dines with me
at a table
in the corner.