When you stretch I feel the



breeze tousling

an orchard waiting for a keeper;

your quivering muscles readying

for a day’s work


your reliability like lead keeping

the yellow-jacket wing

stained glass of my fragile optimism

from the shake of your daily climb

through knobbed, scratching suckers

up the use-shined ladder

leant against time sounding

the mattress with waves repeating

history, history to come.