There are cupcakes to be made,
by morning
like ice cream cones
with sprinkles
and glitter

It is late
in the silent house
where life was lived well today
full and loud
I shuffle around
the remains

dishes heaped
crumbs cling to feet
annoying
on the floor
desperate to be swept,
a days’ worth of grime
maybe two
on a high chair to scour.

piles,
piles,
in every nook
to fold
sort
organize
discard
check off
re-stack
ignore again.

e-mails
endless,
of course,
how many have I already forgotten
of the thousands saved for later
when there is more time
which is never
and work things
to do, to do

too many ideas
stirring, igniting, inspiring, weighing, waiting
to accomplish,
create,
take in,
complete
better
more fully
at all

I think at night
when silence allows
and other pieces of me creep out
like the playroom toys
that come alive and play about
while children are sleeping

She cries out
breaking through the thick fog of it all
at an hour I should be sleeping
she wakes me

calling me
to comfort

20 pounds
of sleepy unrest
renders me still
calm
rest as I rock
soothing I am soothed

I get to
hold
melt
kiss
feed

a soul

escape
from all that matters
so little

as nothing
NOTHING
more eminent than this.