February joy—
 
paging through seed catalogs
 
over breakfast tea

 
 

Late-summer breakfast—
 
black coffee leaks from a crack
 
in my old white cup.

 
 
 

I don’t ask for much—
 
a warm bed on wintry nights,
 
and breakfast coffee.

 
 
 

On summer’s last day
 
we linger over breakfast—
 
unexpected rain.

 
 
 

The lizard mama,
 
abandoning her offspring,
 
looks for breakfast flies.

 
 
 

Halloween morning—
 
the boy next door eats breakfast,
 
dressed as Spiderman.

 
 
 

Waiting for breakfast,
 
a mare paces her paddock
 
till the oats arrive.

 
 
 

languorous breakfast—
 
taking two hours to savor
 
each morsel, each sip

 
 
 

Midwinter morning—
 
the hotel’s breakfast buffet
 
runs out of bacon.

 
 
 

Breakfast with lilacs—
 
a delicate purple scent
 
infuses my toast.