Chill Comfort

The sun rose, burned off the mist,
morning serene as a tranquilizer the dream,
busy traffic with its happy sound,
my stomach pleased with breakfast,
coffee aromatic, hot, waiting—
what more could I want?
An empty eggshell feeling
leaves me in a hollow of time,
pen heavy as a crowbar, paper blank
denies meaning to black marks.
All this because the damned telephone
said I couldn’t see you today?
I look out the window,
even the bird feeder is empty.