Saturday Morning, Early, With Rain Lisbeth July 12, 2015 Life, Poetry Almost hot coffee, an amber dog, a blue ballpoint, a drugstore notebook, this chilly porch. Saturday morning, early, with rain. I move the pen, and poems appear. Words of love for a Iover I do not have Yet. The words tumble and make my lips bend at edges where mirth + years will someday = wrinkles. One day, she will be in my bed, warm tangled limbs on pale blue sheets, while I sit here with this small dog and write of her.