Before Anyone

The house still breathing, slow and deep.

Before the kettle sings.

A certain way I make the bed, or keep

a small collection of small things.

It's nothing grand. No secret art.

Just a specific pull

of curtain, letting morning start

where dust motes drift and lull.

The click of a small latch, precise.

A quiet, private sound.

Before the day puts on its face,

or footsteps mark the ground.

Just for myself, a steady beat.

A thing undone, then done.

Before the rush, the city street.

Before the rising sun

feels real. A tiny anchor, set

while shadows still hold fast.

A quiet breath, I can't forget.

Too essential to be last.