Another Morning Like All Others
The violinist is playing out his little stories again
The bus belches
Traffic rolls up and down
Wightman like the dawn
I should scrub my bathroom
Tub coated in a grime coat
I am not a fraud. My hair is long.
The violinist practices
The allegro movement of a concerto on the porch
Three stones from Lake Michigan
Arranged on the sill in a line. You can teach your fingers
What to do. You can teach your mind
How to love.
![](https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/27bfa43f5581e91ebb7d52455237e2f161857b8222df4da9acbcabb9365b4678/Annulet-Squiggle.gif)