So much of my morning is going on

Behind my eyelids

Behind my back

Because I face the window

As I work.

The workmen at the office used to classify

Us as facesitters, doorsitters, and so on.

To them we were an oriented head on

A chart of oriented heads.

My son leaves for work and I

Wish him well,

“May the farce be with you.”

“And with you.”

He is gone now and I have

No face time there only

With the mortal LCD

And the VOIP

I call another student

And pull the sun up over the hill.