Loosely Dressed Morning

This loosely dressed morning
falls asleep on her hand,
a drivel of drool at the corner of her mouth
anticipating nothing.

The nausea
of long skirting the subject
to be debated is finished. 
The awaited anxiety
disappears
only to be discovered
under the bed
by the woman
who cleans every other week.

If we exhale too quickly,
we blow out the candle
waiting in the window.

If we inhale too slowly,
we risk meditating
on grief
and the pain
of knowing
too much.