Low morning sun
Blanches the lilacs
White like sweet
Little lavender jujubes
Shadows beneath the
Suns reach glisten
In morning dew
Like wet ink
Ivory sunslit slivers
Dance like ghosts
Long and sinewy
They grow shrink
As Saul rises
The last of
Last nights rain
Drips from gutters
Like tea from
Hot wet spoons
As yawning birds
Call each other
This my love
Is morning here
Like a stick
Of red gum
You popped into
My life questions
Came next followed
By surprise how
Do you know
I don’t I
Sense just like
A dog smells
And hears knowing
Belongs to God
Sensing to me
It is not
That I miss
You it’s just
That the tiny
Filaments of your
Life have been
Spun into the
Fabric of mine
In time I
Will simply tuck
You away safely
In the corner
Of my closet
But until then
I will wear
You for you
Keep me warm
Last night’s harvest
Moon strolled slowly
Across the navy
Sky like beaming
Furloughed Sunday soldiers
Licking starlight snowcones
Then dipping delicately
Into the west
Like the toes
Of fancy women
Into languid ponds
This morning’s sky
Is a ruptured
Smooth peach alabaster
Whose marbled veins
Show white blue
Breaking into my
Room quiet thieves
Bring not take
This new day
Once lovers now
Friends we remember
These early mornings
Today as though
They were yesterday
Be sure to
Be young when
You’re young and
Old when you’re
Old for each
Has its own
Charm and grace
Neither to be
Missed or envied
Bring joy to
Others as you
Are however and
Whenever you are
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 