Saturday

The week was a week. It is over.

Sunday is not here yet.

This is the part I like:

no one is waiting
for me to be somewhere.
The urgency drains.
I sit with what happened
and let it be what it was.

Light through a window
at an angle that only happens
in the early dark of spring.

A half-thought from earlier
I am not chasing to a finish.

Saturday holds itself open.
No particular shape.
Just: here.

And the practice is to let it
be exactly that.