Waking up besides a ledge, potted blasts
of rich, minute petals tickle senses alive
as the squints of colour, genial whiffs,
linger around my dome, through tunnels
of closed eyes, blotted with the pinks,
greens and oranges of a window box,
in line for waters after toasts and teas
sitting simply in breeze, savoring times
to shyly unfold more delicious detail,
drenched with the patience of divinity,
as the office node retires atop stairs,
reaching for a ring of too many keys
to be revived by perfection’s flourish.