I Put Them On Slowly

bare feet,
frozen in the morning,
sneak up to my sleep
and ask for help
putting on a pair
of thick
gray socks
they are tired


it’s 5 a.m.
but the hanging cat clock
is stuck
in the soothing hum
of an abandoned
afternoon


it’s 5 a.m.
and your feet are cold,
covered
like an icebox stored
in summer’s
strange freezer


it’s 5 a.m.
and you’re not praying


and I wonder
why
the table is set,
why breakfast waits:
cooling tea,
one teaspoon of sugar,
a few drops of lemon
to remind me
that I am just
too sweet
to be bitter,
you say


and I eat,
you pretend to eat
and I drink,
you swallow
and I smile,
you try to smile
and I thank you
and you squeeze my hand
too softly


I wonder
if time
has a heartbeat
like yours:
dying


and I pray.