A kind hand conducts itself in a dark room
taps my foot to wake me, the 5 a.m. request
accompanied by the sound track of his voice,
“I’ve showered. Getting dressed now.”
My distant drummer, not yet awake, leaves me
to set my own rhythm for the first movement
rousing my body out of the sheets
to the crescendo of morning.
It’s best if my part is muted, carefully measured
in this early light. Hair tousled, mind foggy.
Let the engine hum and the husband drive.
Let my tongue be silent in this symphony of duty.
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