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.