Morning Brings the Next Door
Morning brings the next door to enter,
the next word to define, and the next
chance to chase the sunshine. Even then,
though,
the clouds can unframe the sky till late afternoon.
I’d sweep them away for you
to feel the solitary rays on your face and
a double rainbow defining the hillside.
I’d roll up the midnight into an hour full of
sounds only the creek can make. I’d spread it
like a carpet
while our conversation winds down. I’d send it
to you the moment it was finished. I’d preserve it
for you
for the days when the moon winks from a starless sky.
I’ve debated how to say so many things,
I’ve deleted a hundred texts that I never sent.
I’ve trusted you could read my heart, know my
hopes, and accept my softness that is better than
the brawn that too many call strength.
Let’s talk about love. Let’s let the words flow easily
like wine,
like a stream,
like the breeze rolling down the hills. Let’s talk
about tomorrow and never regret what we say today.
Let’s fill the silence with our quiet words,
with our healing hands clasped like hearts that
were meant to be as one.
Let’s talk about love. Let the rest of the world
scatter in its anxiety. Let’s be sure we say the
words we both need to hear.
Morning brings a name to me, and I will
never be the same. Grace and pain sit behind
my eyelids awakening.
