A twinge, a somersault of love, to see
the small forks in the wrong drawer;
they mean: my daughter was just here.
Instantly the morning aches are gone,
I am back in yesterday when she left for the train,
back in the day before, when she arrived,
I think how I watched her soul paint beauty on her face.
A bluebird feeds on the rail,
the first I’ve ever seen,
but oh, the small forks in the wrong drawer.