Rage woke me, her busy brain sad and
shaken by the imperfect shapes of the day
and we wept at what she saw lost between the exchange of promise and possibility.
She wouldn’t rest and asked for stories
so I mucked up memories until she purred
and our morning sorrows slowed.
I am so easily seen by her
sparse planes lush, empty corners cozy,
and when we meet these mornings
we are reciprocal, asymmetric, she and I
and so I let her stay.