is it bad manners
or a noble pardon
when the world lines up
behind the locked door
of morning
breaks in
pushes you back
grabs your heart
drags it off the bed
and shoves it like
a freed prisoner
into a bright new day?
eyes open the overhead fan wobbles in the gloom if I could only pull the chain blow the minutes and hours out the open window or beg the sun to come early and kick that moon over the mountain my head
while searching for you in that single light of one memory among all those shades of gray I’m confounded by the mist and clouds of an all-day rain then I see it and reach for it that flash in the wate
you see the way that tree reaches towards the sky? for many seasons that was me stretching to heaven with feet rooted in earth awaiting the rains of grace to grow me higher till one day a woodsman app