Lying in bed upstairs at 5:30 AM,

pacified by the hour and the effects of gravity,

sleep barely wearing off;

the intellect clear as pure alcohol

and chilly sunlight in a crystal container,

I can listen

to the indistinctive monochrome sounds

of an ordering of the world

that is in progress around me;

Anna moving about downstairs,

taking her lunch boxes out of the fridge,

slipping them into her bag,

filling up the cat's bowl,

cleaning out his litter tray,

pouring some fresh cat litter,

and finally opening & closing the front door,

pushing it tight and locking it behind her,

leaving the house a lonely two-storey safety container

for me and the old cat,

before she walks across the yard,

entering the garage, pushing the start-up button,

backing the 4WD out of there, turning it around

as the radio starts blurting out the morning news

about Israel's & Iran's various options,

leaving the premises,

with the crackling of the tires

across the gravel

suddenly turning silent

as she passes 'round the corner

and disappears down the alley,

leaving but the constant rhythm of myself obvious,

and the aging cat's call for happiness

down the stairs

The passive, automatic registering

of the bumping, screeching, bouncing activity

of preparations

is quite a benign phenomenon

that doesn't ask anything of me

and my assortment of senses,

letting the impulses play

across the surface tension of consciousness,

time falling calmly like birch pollen;

Nothing full of environs,

Life a fully fledged here & now

in passing