pause

All I want is this space of time, 
something carved and tossed 
to make a banquet, a quiet feast, 
more than I know what to do with, 
and leftovers. Sitting at this table, 
ready, looking right and left, 
awaiting, knowing there’s something 
to celebrate, the way the rooms spread, 
refreshing and airy, the way hours languish 
and relax into uncertainty, flowing without 
shape. The embezzled silence echoes 
autumn’s hush and hiss. Who'd guess, 
after months of isolation, I’d crave it so much, 
this harvest chill, this slumberland, 
this spacious pause


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