The lake here is always green,
but what is it to the
two swans drifting through it?
It fades to dark tones of moss and jade,
and then, the sun begins
to walk through the quiet garden.
I’ve risen early,
already writing in my mind
once I’ve performed my Subuh prayer.
Lurking outside,
a cat’s eyes ember
through the dark.
At times,
the hum of a small plane
unmusical in the sky.
It is time
to sip a deep well of coffee,
to draw from it ideas and something
that often smells like truth.
On my table,
the Oxford Dictionary of English,
a box of Ferrero Rocher
and a bottle of water
as sheets of paper scatter the floor.
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