I Love this Poem

Leisure

by Charles Rafferty

The darkness takes refuge beneath our bed again, and it doesn’t matter
that the sun has risen a minute sooner than it did the day before. We
have curated a warmth merely by lying here, and we take turns hitting
the snooze button. The dog has not complained. The birds will not die
down. We wait for the eggs to cook themselves.

- Charles Rafferty from The Smoke of Horses. © BOA Editions, 2017.