Galya and Alexander visiting the D.C. area a few years ago
The Seventeenth Poem July 24, 2022
The roosters crowing, the sky
still dark. How do they know
the light is coming? Is it my
light when I take away the
shadows and reveal the kitchen,
the bread knife, and the tea cup,
the honey jar and spoon, when
I rejoice at being awake again
on a Sunday poem morning?
The words start before I finish
my bread and butter. My body
has little aches, more twinges
when I lift my arms. Whatever
inside me is still asleep, wakes
now to hear the rooster’s
announcement of a new day.
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