When Morning Comes

Let’s forget this matrix, pretend we’re just seniors in the countryside cooking up old recipes as apologies in our kitchen, telling our past, I’m so sorry I wasted so many years. But here I am now - wise, sweater pulled up to my chin, warm, welcoming, waiting.

Let’s not feign this disappearing act, let’s really do it. Seep into the earth, become the trees, become the melodies the birds sing, disappear with me.

What we’re sowing will be reaped in the dusty yellow of the morning. The night holds our pain as another notch on it’s belt, but the morning let’s us tie a new knot, form a new bond with the new day.