The a.m.

The A

Some­where in the midst of every night
comes the morn­ing,
unno­tice­ably and grad­u­ally
and then it is light.

Through the whole day, the night lingers
drawn in edges,
under and behind every­thing, the
shad­ows clasp, like fingers.

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3 Responses to The a.m.

  1. anita says:

    i love this one.

  2. d. francis says:

    Very nice piece.(s)
    The photo & poem.
    They work well together.

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