Though this poem is not about a morning routine, it is about ghosts and touches on the same things you mention, the hollows we leave as the living that the ghosts inhabit. The poet, Preston Mark Stone, was a fellow I was positively obsessed with in college. A beautiful, bug-eyed half-SE Asian man with freckles and his hair long, just past his shoulders, he'd sit in a booth by the big windows at the Fryn' Pan in Fargo, and I'd just observe him, sitting with my friends or boyfriend, and swoooon. We became friends, later, after my crush wore off, and have since lost contact over the years, when he moved away to attend Sarah Lawrence. But his poetry thrilled me and continues to do so. I thought he'd really become *someone* in the literary scene, but it doesn't seem that that's the path he chose, other than a couple submissions here and there to the odd review. In any case, here's the link to Rice. I hope you'll enjoy it.
Though this poem is not about a morning routine, it is about ghosts and touches on the same things you mention, the hollows we leave as the living that the ghosts inhabit. The poet, Preston Mark Stone, was a fellow I was positively obsessed with in college. A beautiful, bug-eyed half-SE Asian man with freckles and his hair long, just past his shoulders, he'd sit in a booth by the big windows at the Fryn' Pan in Fargo, and I'd just observe him, sitting with my friends or boyfriend, and swoooon. We became friends, later, after my crush wore off, and have since lost contact over the years, when he moved away to attend Sarah Lawrence. But his poetry thrilled me and continues to do so. I thought he'd really become *someone* in the literary scene, but it doesn't seem that that's the path he chose, other than a couple submissions here and there to the odd review. In any case, here's the link to Rice. I hope you'll enjoy it.
https://www.sundresspublications.com/stirring/archives/v4/e6/stonep.htm
This is beautiful