The choke of anxiety that brusquely shoulders aside the morning hours
Would be gone, could be gone, were it not for the hours yet to go.
As I step out of doors, the beige and amber walls yield to green leaf showers
The docile sun flowers, the leaves scramble as the humid winds blow.
While nonetheless appeased, I am not relaxed by natural powers
My solace is that angst and pleasure can lie down together, although
Their partnership is sterile, as the afternoon will show.