The steam rises
From my coffee
Like hypnotized cobras
Coating my glasses
Like Thanksgiving kitchens
The house is
Quiet like midnight
Even though early
Morning sun creeps
Through blinds like
Lost children’s flashlights
In a forest
Mozart plays like
Those comfortable afternoons
In Essen with
My only grandmother
Giving me a
Sense of love
The morning sky
Is the blue
Of a newborns
Eyes not one
Cloud blemishes it
On the western
Edge it glows
White with a
Hint of crimson
Like a soft
Candle as tiger
Lilies bob in
The soft breeze
This Charlotte morning
Muenster there are
Reasons and explanations
There are mechanics
And lessons to
Learn there is
Mastering the metaphor
But mostly writing
Is magic no
Different than a
Twinkling star or
The Harvest Moon
Or snowflakes or
Anything natural it’s
Sand and sandcastles
Snow and igloos
It’s one thing
That when used
Turns into something
Else to me
It’s a whisper
And to another
A simple roar
In life and
Love we often
Run away from
What we are
And choose what
We are not
Eventually both catch
Up with us
Surrendering we fall
Defeated but just
Until our heart
Takes its first
Full deep breath
At long last
Alive
Now the sky
Glows with gray
Clouds tinged by
Pink blushing from
Last nights escapades
They hover like
Dust from mother’s
Early morning makeup
Some crimson like
An accused child
Of peeking beneath
Desks as most
Of the sky
Is set ablaze
With God’s glory
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 