there is a time
when the morning
wears your scent like a silken scarf
and gold knits itself into light
that narrows the eyes until you come into view
the streets grow and shift like grains of sand
a breeze from the west
touches like a shy hand
this kind of morning
is one that sees me
awake in your heart
enough so that the gleam in your eyes
broaden like your smile
and give an evergreen robe
to the sea
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