The mornings clouds
Are like a
Freshly steamed bathroom
Hiding everything including
Planes and sun
The clouds hang
Like freshly stored
Winter coats in
A cedar closet
Waiting for next
Year or Saul’s
Heat on this
Late June morning
Category: Morning
CoalDiamonds
I’m something to
Many and nothing
To the others
Like coal can
Also be a
Diamond but likely
It’s just coal
To be used
Burnt and forgotten
Rather than kept
And finally revered
SingYourSong
And you’re quiet
Absent like a
Student from school
Your desk empty
Blue you said
Yet I worry
You’ll emerge again
Like the summer’s cicadas
Singing your melody
And making noise
Which is music
Only to me
EarlyMorningUsTime
Awaking to silence
I hear breathing
My own and
Yours as I
Stare into darkness
Grabbing my phone
To write you
Stir have I
Awakened you or
Are you stretching
Like a cat
Turning to me
You drowsily stare
Like a child
Wondering how how
What I’m not
Sure surely knowing
That I write
Then I feel
A kiss on
My chest followed
By a hand
You knowing I’m
Doing what I
Am and me
Knowing what you
Mean to me
ThisMorning
This morning’s sky
Looks as if
Saul dumped a
Bag of cotton
Balls there with
Long white streaks
Like a cats whiskers
The tree tops
Glow like big
Nightlights yellow and
Green like early
Autumn gourds spindly
Trunks shoot in
All directions like
The spokes of
A bicycle as
Birds gab and
Rumor about chill
Here this morning
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 