the dark morning.
the eyelids saying no.
the bright morning, warm and heavy.
the tile, the dust, and the little dog.
all the little dogs, yelling like timberwolves.
the curtains. the white, wispy curtains long and luxurious flowing from the ceiling to the ground, gathering the warm tropical breath of the countryside and playing ghosts in the bedroom.
the screen against the window, flapping.
the nose against the screen, tears welling up but not pouring forth.
outside, the potted plants, music from a television set, living things.
the breeze blows again, a wall of leaves shimmers.
tears fall.
a smile forms.
another moment.