A gentle buzzing stretches its arms throughout breakfast time. We came along too late and could not clean up the coffee stains So we settled in a cabin across the pond. We always eat before it rains, To keep from running away. The spirit expects the body’s rhyme. This is one of those things that takes patience. When the morning air Leaps into my lap and purrs, and islands seem to miss the main land, You refuse to tell me how you feel. The message bottle was filled with sand. I read it with a microscope. The script you used was elegant and rare. Things float and circle throughout the bowl in this economic weather Where not even our simple meal can escape music. You can’t wash away What is part of you. The simple doctor does not know what to say. We sit across from one another, trying not to run, being lonely together. Fruit rots across several days in the kitchen. There is a greasy stink And an inaudible hum. The appliances tell old vegetable jokes and laugh. I’ll see you around. But when you go, you will not even be half. The music will play, breakfast will be served, and I will eat, not think.