|
| |
Sabbath Morning
So that you will know
the darkness of flowers
I will kiss your lips at first light.
I will provide sweet morning rain.
Because you must have poetry
I will make breakfast
pouring jasmine tea
arranging what we both like
onto sky blue plates.
You should have music.
I will call for Mozart's little bird.
I will call the great hook beaked
seafaring gulls
to serenade these drowsy breaths.
I will hum the small songs
of sad street urchins
for your kind fingers
to silence.
We will paint moon moths
into butterflies,
polish river rocks
into crystals
for love to see through.
Slowly we will melt our butter.
You will disappear
as you come closer.
Your hands ebbing from my shore.
A strand etched with the driftwood
of these ordinary revelations
that pool into vision
this Sabbath morning,
and while blueberry muffins
are cooking,
we will pray in our own way.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
|
|