Tendrils

​In each day there are moments
Of quiet
When dust glints on the windowpane
And pipes creak their soft reminders
That I am home
That I am here
A subtle call that this moment not go
Unobserved

In each day there are heartbeats
Of fresh breath
Hanging in warm air, drifting
And distant motors hummm
With footfall mixed
Some soft, some marching
The space between trees filled
With the echo of voices past

In each day there are hiccups
Of tired muscles
Shifting and settling
White Steam whistling
Against melamine tile
Gentle droplets on polished wooden floor
Clouds billowing in tannin surf

And I -
I spend these slow minutes
Carefully, silently
Trying to untwine
What little is left
Of the remaining Tendrils of me