The kitchen heater this morning
is sealed with a film of nonchalance.
Your disapproval blackened into coffee
cooked with eggs
and spread itself into smorgas
when I arrived on time for breakfast.

You were not the sort
that believed in being
on time.

Only earlier
and mornings were
before the moon retired
and
the skies still sewn together in black
embellished by flicking studs.

Before dawn tomorrow
your pencil will unwind itself into canvas,
you will be working out

treacherous lines of roads
to drive



away from me.