Morning Wait

the hour is past, the sky overcast and the chill feels heavier on a drooping shoulder ships have come, and gone like the last biscotti for the little one, she worries her hand maybe they should just go home where there might still be some warmth left in the morning’s espresso she never thought she would have to look for warmth, she had always had the rush of heat from his arms somehow the cobbled walk seems much longer, harder than when they set out at dawn maybe tomorrow morning the quay will be less cold, and the sky a little brightened with his return After: Morning at the Quay in Venice by Helen Allingham For Debbie Guzzi's Challenge: Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 9 Kim Patrice Nunez 15 January 2016