Bath Water and Fresh Eggs

I look out at the man across the street taking care of his yard.
I look out from behind the paneled window pane.

Inside
a world is created between us.

There are feelings out there,
on the other side of the glass:

Memories,
a whole city,
complexities,
confusions
about who we are
and who we are supposed to be.

There are feelings out there,
where the agave is blooming.

Inside
you lay on a mat exercising your pelvis.

I stand in my blue bathrobe, hair wet.
It is so quiet, only:

The movement of your belly up and down as you breathe,
the tea kettle,
a dog,
birds,
the shuffle of paper.

I stand in my bathrobe writing a poem
about the feelings out there
and the world in here,
between us
that has stopped,
full of bath water and fresh eggs.