On a Sunday night

After dinner

But before the week ahead

Will blossom like a wild rose

But first

To start the week fresh as a

Linen thread

With all hope

Goes

Like a water

Through a hole

In the bottom

Of the bowl

The stalemate

Of wasted

To start over is the begin

Again

So air out the troubles

Hold the feeling and be whipped out

Defenestration

Into the thick

Winters

Night

You can feel your fingers release

The cold damp history

With dew on the glass

As you open it fast

And out with the old

And in with

The new

No more

No less

The perfect amount

None the less

To be held with esteem

When one knows when to bow

And when to scheme

The lagom of the day

Is knowing when to rise up

And when to fade away

From the lake

Across the street

At 7 AM

The susurrus of water

Lapping the shores

Across from Chicago

Where the Indiana lines stretch

Way into the fresh water oceans

Over the dunes

And through the gentle thicket

I hear the water

Reassuring me

Another day is at hand

The light of the day

Or the day of the morning

When the lazy lines

Hit me

In a subtle but unique way

To say

My limerence

Had commenced

On one wry smile

And I could feel the clouds

Fade away from the

Sky