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Counting Dawns
If eyes open too soon
then a few mornings go missing,
but they are catching up
they will fly in backwards
tumbling out of windswept decades.
Eyes that open too late have to wait,
have to stare at a future blankness
while ears gatecrash the present.
Will the thrown newspaper
land on the lower or upper step?
It matters,
a quantifying arithmetic is essential
to determine next steps.
The percolator has mixed together
a thousand morning.
Dawn gathers enough gravity
to sink easily into an evening sunset.
We find ourselves on the verge
of all previous verges,
swinging one delving leg
to touch a floor
that rises up to meet us.
and its normal - too normal.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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