Morning

Morning and my dreams alight
back to their black forest until tomorrow
and you are gone in the clear quiet
of another day
that rolls like a whale in cool water.

It is the quiet where we met
that I remember
deep as a wishing well
and to this day I lower my bucket
with the fat smile of a boy.

It is the same quiet without you
that saturates the dark red things
in the blanket and on your paisley shawl
and makes waiting for your return wakeful
knowing that we will soon

walk together in the wash of quiet, our teacher
who will bid us time alone
while she does her cleaning.