Breakfast With The Lovers of Life

The breakfast becomes everything there is to know,
the smiling egg balanced and
quivering under the minds that are collective,
six of them in all and totaling
any number of years.
There is knowledge in putting food in mouths, lipstick
on lips, dye in hair,
the mustaches and glasses of orange juice are coming through some thick cloud,
they were at the window,
and they talked while they waited.

Some thought of it as waiting
but I saw, they thought waiting was called
laughing, laughing at the small
bird they found in the complex tree, and sitting there
in chairs
it was a miraculous breakfast,
chairs facing one another on a day called themselves.
They had become day, and they had become the complex bird.