Most Mornings

Well so Most mornings the small black/ White dog wakes me before 7 Wanting food I stumble through with half a cup & fill her metal bowl & then go piss & avoid my refection in the bathroom mirror & return to the warm & welcome bed where my wife has turned left & we lie in formation like flying ducks over a creek somewhere Peaceful for 20 minutes or so until the passing tractor The dog must chase raises me again & off she goes & the light is enough for coffee if I want it & sometimes I do & the world is something then That light that light Softens the day´s coming load