Telling: Streams & Logs

Poetry

early light

the sun lays a doorway

across the lawn

 

I open my throat

 

all the birds have flown

to the highest branches

of the furthest trees

 

there are snakes under the floorboards

chasing mice

 

I walk without shoes

on the blessing of polished wood

 

I wake before the others

and drink my fill of early light