Basking - Dec. 9, 2024

it starts sometime in November

driving home from Starbucks

a flock of pigeons packed on the

peak of a tile roof turned in

reverence towards the sun

when I arrive I head outside

rotate my favorite backyard chair

east and curl up with the steam

rising from my cup of tea

basking is a kind of begging

taking without giving

thieves stuffing warm morning light

into the chill of empty pockets

craving for it to sink

into their cold souls

once in India I watched

a white crane sunbathe

one-legged in a misty lagoon

head buried in a basket of white

feathers but for one dark eye

that disappeared with the rising sun