One daybreak it will be gone.
This moon river breakfast epiphany
that revels within its moment.
Someone will say a kind word -
or I will hear music that stitches
my heart to beat again.
It won’t be this morning.
Today’s mourning is silence
and blue-choke cigarette smoke.
Joy will be taken when it comes.
As if holding this felt-tipped doll
was just Holly Golightly in drag.