365 Prompts

No kidding, a book called 365 Prompts, as if we could not come up with them ourselves.
There are 365 prompts in this room, in how you looked at me, the color of your eyes,
each word that asks to be spoken, the unevenness in her smile, the fleeting look that
says everything that needs to be said, but sits in a pool of silence amidst the din of life.
the flames of the fire next to us have so many tales to tell, of carbon laid down in the
days of dinosaurs, of oil wells and of the charcoal she smudged across her eyelids
to lure him to her in some far-off land..
365 prompts!  a measley sum compared with the number in my small leather pen
case that has traveled continents, the coffee-colored ink spills prompts as quickly as
they can be written, the bakery across the store is shutting down its ovens, the foccaccia
is running out, a fly is perched on ther B on the marquee; the foam on my coffee is
shimmering as it ages, the vacuum cleaner brushes up against my legs, whispering that
it is time to leave so the workers can rush out the doors, home to their 365s,
may they all be good.