Sunday Morning

The new-born sun
pushes away the darkness.
You stretch
I yawn
and we both struggle
from under the covers.
I take refuge on the couch
while you retreat to the kitchen.

I can hear
God's "Concerto for Birds"
being performed outside.
Later,
(upon His cue)
it is joined by
running tap water,
a percolator,
and a few
exquisitely hummed notes
from you.

Before I know it,
you are again next to me
with coffee and the Times.
We begin to share the paper
and halfway through "Peanuts"
I stop
to watch
you sip.

Memories of last night's sighs
revisit my mind but alas,
their echos fade
with each passing second.
I anticipate
the finale of today's concerto.
I long for
the return of darkness.

Do you?