As the blade of morning comes around for yet another slice
And the crescent moon puts yesterday considerately on ice
You smile into the biting edge of the sliver between the glass
To be studied at a later date when all of this has passed
And lick the lips of sweet tomorrows lined up on your bookshelf
And wonder if they’ll paint you crazy for talking to yourself
But here in history’s heavy haze where winter beats retreat
You find yourself another mile to wander down the street
To open eyes in wonder yet at all that is revealed
When broken ice and shattered peace brings harvest to the field
And picking at the scars that heal upon your heaving breast
You thank your heart for saving yet this dusty Rorschach test
March 2007
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