some mornings
i find that i tend to walk
barefoot among blades that wear those
varied shades of green
and what cuts me to the quick
is how your face
rises like steam behind my eyes
tender, full with love and wit at your chin
sugary with the flesh of autumn
and asks me so much in a sentence of silence
little wonder
that there is more gentle morning crystal
that greets my skin
because even the sunrise
sheds happy tears
at what lies in my heart for you
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