Too many mornings, she’s seen me
Splash a scald of it into a travel mug,
Take a gulp, burn my throat -
Living on headlines, crisis by crisis
The daily outrage whose only profit is loss.
With her hand now gentle on my hair,
Smoothing it, she hums, and the humming draws me
Home to local sunlight and a fire of goldfinch
In the forsythia, to the waterfall...
— Feb 19, 2019 09:16AM
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