Poetry

Woken by the black-collard barbet
knocking on the window
as a token from the gods
 
like a acolyte dedicated to your service
I rise to prepare breakfast
consisting of toasted chicken mayonnaise sandwiches,
some squeezed orange juice
 
and the tender relaxed serenity
fills your face with a kind of dignity,
a kind of uncommon grace
and when you look up at me
 
I see a warm pleasant welcome
almost like the rising sun
displayed on your face
 
and your slender arms
reach out to me
drawing me down
to soft sheets and a hot pillow
and to you.