5:00 a.m. in Phoenix

Morning before Sun

roars like the mouth

of a far-away river.

 

Through half-closed shutters,

memory- soaked sky buzzes in.

 

Here,

light is

sweet,

cold,

early.

 

We wait

for chronic anger to settle;

to stiffen our limbs into work.

 

The light rail pierces by,

the ancient blue drains away

 

and we reinvent time

so as not to be late.

January 31, 2018

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