When you stretch I feel the
breeze tousling
an orchard waiting for a keeper;
your quivering muscles readying
for a day’s work
worrying,
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.