Samwise

some mornings you wake me with a call

to arms, or a crawl as if in deep trenches

perhaps just your color wakes me,

as it twists into my dreams

then envelops,

becoming my dreams, pulling

the blackness from behind my eyelids

into the bed, taking shape and texture

 

you are a soft fiddle head fern

that runs through the wind,

imitating an ash-throated flycatcher

 

your forgiveness comforts me

and wakes me at night

 

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