Morning Oulipo
A quick cut—a smooth parting.
Shorn fruit slipping from its pithy skin.
Not much
in the way of satiation
but a vision of orchards fills my stomach.
A cardinal starts its song—
through my window,
moonlight is still pushing its diaphanous body
through a canopy of wilting oaks, fighting
hard against
coming storms of dawn.
The world is waking—
I am hungry. I am solid.
I am sating my soul with citrus and birdsong