I imagine every beginning
is like this one:
stumbling out of slumber
and into a faint light,
like the start of a symphony
or that moment before the punch line
of the joke. There is no world
until the coffee pot is finished brewing
and until I am able to light my first cigar
and sit down with all my words
and the calming silence
between the tick tock of the clock
locked away upstairs
while outside, the early risers
begin chasing dogs, starting lawn mowers,
waiting for the mail, eating, shitting,
complaining about this or that or
some other damn thing. My next door neighbor
the retired postman works on his lawn,
prepares for the work that will come
tomorrow, and is finished
before the hottest part of the day. On good days
I separate myself from the noise and forget
its source and I can close my eyes
and somewhere
between the tick tocking
and the roar of distant lawn tractors,
and the wind whispering
through the magnolia blossoms,
and the twittering of birds
building nests. And by the time
my cigar is finished
and the coffee cup is empty,
I can open my eyes
and tell myself
that it is good.
