Morning's Shoulder

In the shoulder of the morning I,

Kissing her arms sweetly awake,

Find a cradle in her warming

Eyes, missing the drowning lake

For the dream-waters, sleep waning,

The sighs, this is what I take:

No lies, the listening birds spake

Of swamps becoming the bell,

Claiming a drake, taunts and promises

Coming to tell, saying of time's curious chaos,

A simple ache sated with kissed arms,

Hearts flaying sleep in scarred windy ash;

Morning's shoulder is the song of the non-

Abashed mystic, sandy-eyed joyful couples

Saying their goodmornings in silent crash.

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