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Shannon Stephens
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The Most Delicious Hours
Waking up to a hooting train
and the dark and the gusting rain,
it's almost four; there's an hour more
to cur against you in the dark and warm.
Days like dimes add up to a life
spent with flies and fluorescent lights,
but when it's dark and the house is quiet,
the most delicious hours are yours and mine.
How quickly the morning comes on stalking feet, like a thief.
And how softly the daylight comes to swallow up all our peace.
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How greedy day would love to gobble this!
Blue light through our window, blue light on your skin,
the sound of the streetlamp moving in the wind,
the sound of your breathing going out and in.
We get the groceries, we lick the stamps,
clean up the kitchen and water the plants,
but I can't wait for the evening's slow air:
for harbor of night, and your breath in my hair.
And how quickly the morning comes on stalking feet, like a thief.
And how softly the daylight comes to swallow up our relief.
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