The day slips away

in headaches and naps.

 

David Bowie hated wasted days.

 

But what is a wasted day?

One without accomplishment?

Or one not worth remembering?

 

My precious dog lays at my feet

as I write.

I reach down to rub her belly.

 

This is a day without doing

but not without beauty.

I don’t count it a loss.