In the morning of the morning
that one part
where the light’s light, finally—
not just an idea of the cardinal’s
song--and the commute
ahead, the bread broken,
the moment when we say
again and mean it
with relief, that’s when
the windows ripple with age
and I turn to you, across
the table, your reading glasses
on, your head mostly bald,
all the years of this time of day
we’ve spent together.
I mean to say thank you.
Again.
Ok, guys, don't leave me hanging out here all alone. Post! Post! Post!
Absolutely lovely Cullen.
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