Sun, 3 May

Things found on a table after a long Sunday: One jigsaw, half-assembled, showing sky. Three crayon stubs — coral, chrome, a yellow so sure of itself it could only belong to a child. One picture book, face-down, holding its place. One mug. Cold. A ring beneath it like a signature the morning left. One knitted blanket, trailing, not abandoned — only moving slowly toward the floor. One fog, pressing its white face to the glass from outside, not asking to come in. One man, hands loose, not waiting for anything, which is different from not waiting. Two children: one drawing, one building, both inside their own countries. One afternoon. Unspent.