woman cinching her scarf

woman cinching her scarf

while walking down the sidewalk,

she made my morning too,

on top of that sunrise

whose beauty varied according to

which windows we viewed it from―

less stunning from the living room,

more typically orange, than the salmon-pink

I’d originally seen from the kitchen

frescoed across the garage wall―

divided like the breakfast pie

that dawn had made for us before she left,

which I cut into wedges with both

blueberries and apple chunks

for robin and me and, adjacent to those,

wedges with just apple chunks to satisfy maggie.

there’s something for everyone

arrayed before us like a cornucopia’s spill

that we just need to remember

doesn’t need to be cleaned up,

except to turn things occasionally

so they’ll be seen by the right eye.