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It is unfashionable these days
to spend your time watching
morning light radiate off wood floors,
notice the rich grain,
linger over your old dog’s fur
marvel at the softness that still remains,
relish simple flavors, the peach, the ripe tomato,
get lost in sentences of Dickens,
wander as they do through narrow alleys,
or wind through the fields of wildflowers
that is Austen’s prose, bathe
in the sound of your husband’s voice
as he tells a long story of neighbors
allow the minute, the second,
savor the tick, indulge the tock
pause what passes for your life,
to feel the slow stretch of time
made slower for the pausing
wait until you feel your place.
Each breath a moment held,
Each breath given for the next.