Old Sol rises up and finds me here
though I’ve abused the night
and wasted the best of my hours
unrepaired and pressing
for more than I can sustain.
The day breaks and I’m unworthy,
not risen, well slept, to be born again
but bedraggled and haunted by the hours past.
We’ve risen so often together
I running through the alleys and park trees
and Sol above the poles and steeples.
First flush, just we two, in the crisp morning air
through the sleeping parkland and dew laden grass
the cool air against sweat and muscles
you open it all up to me
again and again.
gallagher
jan 12 78
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
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