Each morning it begins all over
you said, like caring for a child.
The mediocrity of feeding, bathing,
can drab a life, or earn the famous
hanger of routine, the comfort
of knowing what to expect each day.
In your purple world, this labyrinth
with its sieved light, stray ease
tools the mind, the heart to move on.
I think of you and your patience,
your cheeriness, your masterful
solutions without a trace of bitterness,
and I wish we had seized more days
to roam the town, stop for lunch
with wine, look for ourselves in windows.