A quake in the morning
shakes grasses
green spears
resign dewdrops
air shivers
anticipates.
Rush on through newness
with disbelief.
Wood pigeons beat
unfamiliar air
our world awakens
redesigned.
Who are you looking for
so early?
Who do you think you are
to demand redemption
explanations, anything fresh
when you hated so brazenly?
Dawn tiptoes tentatively, trembles
tempts shadows from Friday's face
I am still reclined
over a locked glory box
under the lattice of wood
and climbing flowers
to dream that we might reflesh
out of time
jaded, cold and exiled.
