but all I could think about was smearing
wet paint with my fingers
(the blanket of your preferred color)

the morning overcast expanded until it broke
a glistening mosaic in the sky—but fluid,
rowing across the window
like a boat on the horizon

growing full
(like my heart)
then releasing
(like my breath)
taking up space
then resting (my head on the chair)

meditating on a day worth having

and in the end
glowing.