Lightness

On the first day of a holiday, new life awakens.
So it is written, in the folds of warm sheets,
in the milky depths of a coffee cup.
Slowly sinking in a featherbed,
warm hands on warm china
nothing bound to begin.
Soaking bubbles, a foamy bath,
limbs softened by the watery mist,
slowly following a silky thread of words
traveling still.
Everything is free, suspended,
tasteful, leisurely.

The thought of a holiday alighting where it will.