Somewhere between the toss and turn I remembered you, and so I jumped out of bed, put my floor-length robe on… draping down from the shoulders in soft, clean, solemn lines, flowing all the way down to brush the ground with quiet authority—but also like a mop that won’t step off my back. The temp is off. Made a coffee. The temp is on. Nothing is even wrong, but lately I’ve felt like a ghost haunting my own life… drifting from room to room, checking clocks that never seem to move. Morning mourning...