You lie on the sun warmed floor.
A concrete slab.
Your diaphragm rises and falls
with each full breath
and lifts the kitten
curled upon your belly.
You drift upward on the thermals
as your body rests.
The thermals circulate
through the entire house.
Your spirit enters my studio window
and rearranges charcoal
already set to the toothy paper
at the easel.
You give the page magpies
stroked by sunlit fingers.
You give tremors to my spine
when you open me up.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
