We were o.k. in the mornings
though at loose ends
later in the day—our afternoons
were a fatality occasionally, blank spaces
like something erased between the parentheses
of lunch & dinner (we swore by our routine).
It wasn’t that we were
abandoned exactly, for hadn’t we planned it this way—
eschewing neighbors & importuning others
& hewing to our quiddity?
It was more that they
never bothered to persist;
they took us at our word, they just went off
good-humoredly, in search of lusher pastures.
& so we’d get up earlier
the better to savor the original ambrosia,
for the mornings were uniformly
bearable: whatever went wrong—our mysterious lacunae—
came later on in the day.
We perfected the skill
of megalithical napping, & evenings
we slid through like honey
--Susanne Kort, 2005