Potato pancake, lip smack, newsprint's rustle, coffee's rush,
the angle of the sunshine in the Sunday morning kitchen.
Eventually the creeping phlox migrates from west to east
along a narrow bed on the other side of the fence.
Bake bread, cook a pot of black bean soup, have a banana.
One-handing a spade, weed a strawberry bed before it rains.
Shake off boots, stretch out on the floor, the day's too short.
Broiled salmon, roasted sweet potatoes, asparagus, and wine.
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