Nightstand

Three AM. The clock radio

a dim red eye.

Water glass half-empty,

a ring on the cheap veneer.

The paperback is bent back

at chapter seven.

My glasses resting on the cover,

like a tired bird.

Dust motes catch the light

from the street outside.

Just this little landscape here,

familiar and still.

It’s not much.

Just things.

But they’re here.

And I’m here.