January 29, 2024
Casually, a sleep
undoes it.
The limited,
lackluster
premonition
of my days
parts its dusty waves.
I wake
from drowning.
It is morning.
Lowering like wings
into the room,
a toneless
singing balms and balms.
It’s deep
as grief
and bitter
with relief
long sought.
Why did god not,
a moment sooner,
when I most needed,
come and feed
me?
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