Tag Archives: cold morning

Sunday Morning

November, cold and whispering,

but the sky above clear, so blue.

The park by the lake on a Sunday,

just us together in the morning.

The wind makes choppy waves.

No insect whine of boat motors.

We sit at a picnic table, watching

the water, sharing a clove cigarette.

The taste it’s leaves on our lips

make the kisses so much sweeter.

November is quiet, and gives dreams,

even as we feel all we love will burn.

We chase each other, playing tag

like we were still children, still innocent.

You catch me, still so fast, daughter of wind.

Lone art geek on the cross country team.

I chase after you in return, and you look back.

You would, even in the underworld.

We walk, hand in hand,  quiet streets.

They’re are people going into a church.

Tall and stone and from a fancier age.

Stained glass windows show Jesus’ miracles.

You say: “I used to feel at peace in their,

in honeyed sunlight of a spring Sunday morning.”

You have one last clove cigarette to share.

We sit outside your house. Sun is on us.

Even in the cold November, sunlight is warm.

Our skins kissed by a light that lovers everything.

I put my arm around you, kiss your head,

and wish this morning never become another day.

Morning Is The Gift of Light

Walking through The Fort on my way to work,
coldest morning yet this fall, wearing my heavy coat
instead of my soft and comforting hoodie.
The sun is just shaking itself awake, sluggishly, tiredly,
trying to shake off sleep, the lethargy of the nighttime
and light our way down here again.
Rebekah, a brilliant poet friend, is on my mind, my heart.
I hold onto the tender thoughts she brings, let the rising sun
and my adoration of her light my way in a roiling world.
Love, when the world is burning, and heaven looks away.
Be a star amidst the flames, light instead of raging heat.
Rebekah’s words echo, and she and the sun show the way.