The wood router stands on a folding shelf with shavings from the day swept up and tossed shaken out of dishcloths, out of rags.

After the sunlight naturally sets on machines and those around machines,
torches, glass, and a combination of acrylic and metal boxes sitting just so after dark with coiled garden hoses mistaken for sleeping snakes, rest.

All painted now with sunset colors
like the sky itself.

Drain spouts jeweled with rain beads and sometimes
pigeon feathers cast shadows.

Such winds surging through awning windows and invisible windows
Above deck, sunlight and moonlight trade places with our past selves—
ending us for a moment—
as rain patters and patters down all-knowing
hallways with our tentative gardens
and our next-day plans when we awaken as
do our surroundings.

awaken window poemImage by ractapopulous from Pixabay


Enjoy reading this poem? Read more from John Kucera

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