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Blue Digona

sun peeps through blue
digona glass with salt clung
to the air outside and all the while
the backyard is still

full of shadow and quiet.
i am quiet. silent
in a full way, i'm not
empty. the countertops are
clean, we picked them
out together. the shine turns tart
lemon from scent to taste on the buds

and there's no gravel under the boot
rack by the front door. to the left a grand
piano is yawning happily in the living room.
the day breaks. my voice assistant could read me
this month's literary magazine
but it will not. i will read it
on my own like i used to do. i take notes
and they're detailed because they can be,
because there's finally time.

reviewing the script revisions, they're good.
really good. this one time i saw someone somehwere
on social media say (i can't remember who) they were
excited about directors doing big audacious things.
i wanted to be big and audacious
in my craft. i still do.

even now. and i think i'm finally getting better
at my craft. crafts. salt clings to the walls, and multicolor
mugs line the papered shelves just waiting for another drench
in airy, technicolor morning. this is where the art breathes
its first breath.

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