I am home

woke up early to work on the novel.
with the house wonderfully quiet,
just the coffee kettle and the typer keys,
I sit and dream up my roman-a-clef world.

the characters still only belong to me;
I have not given them to the world
to be judged or bullied like children,
and it feels like a special little secret. 

one day, the world will own this work,
each reader claiming it as their own,
putting their own meaning onto the sentences,
but for now – and not much longer – it is just mine. 

the sun isn't even up yet, 
and the coffee burns the back of my throat good;
no music, no outside world or waking women,
but only the world I have created on the digital page. 

so as I go forth into the day,
dismayed by work and real life,
it is here I want to stay and wade:
a quiet dining room, with a view of forever.