I am comfortable
on the carpeted floor
of this country home.
My friend, down for the holidays
plays and electric keyboard
whose un-dampened notes
carry chords about the warm room.
Other friends are stirring
small cups of conversation,
walking in tight circles
like toy trains.
Unbeknownst to them, I
am furiously penning it all down,
a play by play of this
seemingly innocuous moment.
When they wake, they will
have forgotten, but I , having
wrapped it in a ribbon of words,
will remember.
And I will tear off the bow
each time my eyes
open this small present of a poem.
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