Sugar Donuts on a Sleepy Sunday

Sugar Donuts on a Sleepy Sunday

Sting and I turn fifty-five this year,
trivia sponged from the early news.
Baby-boomers, cradle-mates,
we've survived divorce, Cold War, the Berlin Wall.
I munch sugar donuts on a sleepy Sunday.
He, with lute and bass,
sings songs from the labyrinth.
Together, fingers sticky with life,
we stuff a message in a bottle,
cast it upon deep, blue water,
pray for harmonic convergence.
It is a brand new day.


Written for: "The Writer's Cramp" 

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