At First Blur

Alarms, even five of them
set at full morning volume,
fail to rouse the distant dreamer I am
between the hours of soliloquy and sleep.
Springtime is melting away
the saber toothed corners of sleepy suburbia,
its nectars fogging the dew-stained streets
I know by name.
Cars jostle through yellow lights,
tardy bells echo tauntingly
as the rubber soles of delinquents
patter along the concrete steps
of routine and rumble.

This morning’s sunlight is caffeinated
by the scarlet reverberations of laughter
no one will remember
come afternoon.

Day breaks.
Hearts do, too.

I can only hope mine is spared,
at least for today. The earth is too saturated
by the bleeding rain of beauty
for anything wonderful to be washed
away from reach.

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