early morning being dragged
from sleep to face a firing squad
of uncertainties quietly aimed
at any residual zest for
living you might still harbor
but which bubbles up anyway
out of the warm womb of morning
sunny side up with only a few
seconds to turn her over
so the head crowns
memory is such an infant
a gaze so penetrating
you can tell she looks
at God alone through you
No comments:
Post a Comment