Morning Wait
the hour is past, the sky
overcast and the chill feels heavier
on a drooping shoulder
ships have come,
and gone like the last biscotti
for the little one,
she worries
her hand
maybe they should just go
home where there might still be
some warmth left in the
morning’s espresso
she never thought she would have
to look for warmth, she had always
had the rush of heat
from his arms
somehow the cobbled walk seems
much longer, harder than when
they set out at dawn
maybe tomorrow morning
the quay will be less cold,
and the sky a little brightened
with his return
After: Morning at the Quay in Venice by Helen Allingham
For Debbie Guzzi's Challenge: Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 9
Kim Patrice Nunez
15 January 2016
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