On descending, smells of
Coffee and toast, silent,
Empty passageways, and
Moments, in corners;
Secluded from the eye.

Sun-filled dusty rooms
With soft light, the drone
Of lazy conversation; and
Cool drinks, spilling
Over into the evening.

In the shallows of day,
Drifting inward, on tides
Of contentment, we wake.
By dark restless waters, our
Eyes open to the moon.