The now
and then sort-of
subtle sound—of a few spring
morning
rain drops pinging
off a maybe
not so
distant bedroom window—
marks the time
past which a body
really ought
to be thinking
of rising-
up, and so gently nags
employment!
of the rest
of its
prone and still-
dormant senses;
which should
by now
be just as
busy—say,
smelling lilacs, tasting coffee—