May 9, 2010

To Few the Mornings Be

I spoke Mary-words

Into my pillow

They began to drool

Into fragments,

Almost sentences that made sense.

Morning fatigue scratched off

Day lurched and pressed forward

Sleep who was jealously mad

Gave permission a slip

Sunday afternoon greened too,

Offering a flower

I threw it on the ground

And felt my cheeks go rosy.

Day dandelions before Moon wags its silver tail,

And I only wish

I knew which

To wish on


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