Unforgotten cries
vent their scars.
Hear them glistening
at the wake
of our mustard yellow
eye.
Dawn's soft sneeze
leaves its raw sawdust
to tickle the sensitive
scrapes upon my
everlasting lungs.
A new world has woken.
Pain has turned to fluff.
I hear a new hum;
humming tangos,
salsa, and waltz.
Dance from the shadows.
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1 comment:
Dawn poems, called "aubades", are among my favorites because they have so much promise, like this one.
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