sitting in the clammy dew

Out under the trees

where groundskeepers never go

leaves stand thick around a bench

with a cracked slat of faded wood

On this foggy bottom morning

I carry a notebook, a pen,

a new book to read

and coffee in my blue cup

I sit upon the dewy bench

sip warm coffee

open the book and realize

it is not the book I wanted

I look back towards the house

feel clammy dew soaked pants

know that if I leave to exchange books

I will not return this morning

I convince myself the universe has something

it wants to tell me in this book

and take another sip of coffee

because I always have tomorrow

10-27-20