"perfect light..."

the light is perfect, she says to herself as
she gazes longingly toward the chair in the
corner...her favorite corner of the room
nearest the garden, where mourning doves
coo and the scent of jasmine floats through
an open window...

this is the time of day when there is nothing
but the stillness of this room, and the slow
music of a small mantle clock tapping out the
minutes without her...

and then there is the book of cummings she left
turned over on the table in a pool of sunlight,
filtered by curtains that billow inward with
each breath of midsummer, calling her to savour
one more verse, just another stanza, a sonnet
to feed her heart in this time of hunger

but there are dishes to rinse, and babies
waking from their naps, a quiche to start and
one more section of the garden that needs to
be weeded or they won't have basil when
the tomatoes ripen later in the season...

but the light is perfect and just one verse
will tend the fire of beauty that smolders
in her heart...."i carry your heart with me,
i carry it in my heart..." sated she returns
and rolls out a perfect crust for dinner...