Ode

The play of  light through the attic window,

Ray LaMontagne on my ipod in my right ear.

The true and beautiful words you whispered

in my ear over the last two days.

Memories of Italian light falling softly over the

Tuscan hills.

Creating a little Heaven on earth for ourselves.

In whatever way we can.

For me,

the simplicity of  filling a bowl with apples.

Putting a dozen pink roses in a glass vase.

Settling down on the sofa

last night with a hundred texts from you,

and a copy of John Keats

Ode to Autumn, falling open,

on my knee.