I wake in my hotel
hearing the absence of your footsteps.
The hall corridor is filled with no one.
The ice maker five doors down is silent.
Right now you must be in the kitchen
making espresso and frothed milk.
You will read the news on a tablet
and slowly eat three squares of chocolate.
Later you will make a real breakfast.
Oatmeal with berries and nuts on the surface.
I write this memory on a napkin
as the sea rolls to the shore repeatedly.
The music of the sunrise
breaks the ocean line and the far away squalls.
The salt in your desert floor
revives this memory for you as you look east.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney