We decide again to wake up early.

We want to spend the first hour

of our days intentionally, toward goals,

with a pen. I hear you awake, writing.

I choose to stay in bed, for the second

morning in a row. First,

I was exhausted. Then,

I was listening to birdsong

and your sweet scratches

in the other room,

your yawns.

Making

this poem,

letting

the rest

rest.