Monday, February 1, 2016


I am loath to leave my bed,
packed with warm daydreams
and the safety of sleep.
But if I pull myself
from under the down comforter
of slumber,
I am rewarded with the
Harlem sunrise,
shimmering like
liquid grapefruit,
dazzling the sky
above the East River,
and singing us into waking.

Rain is suspended
in the air of the courtyard,
dripping from the snow
melting off the tin roof
of the church.
I am sprinkled with
a bit of holy runoff,
as I glide under the eaves,
My stomach is
filled with the warmth
of food cooked with

No comments:

Post a Comment