The Pulse

I left her with the baby.
I left her with the bed.
And climbed down creaking stairs to pour coffee into my head.

To smell wet air off the pond.
And sugar off of trees.
Hear birds sing.
And thick dew plop like rain against star shaped sweet gum leaves.

I made coffee in the dark.
Found my book and the pen I like.
I took the shy dog out to be good.
We peed together at the edge of the woods.

Woke up at six in the morning for no good reason.
So I sat down, pen in hand.

Intent on writing one.

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