An effort to enter into morning

Orange thorns snag the hair. / The old fist of bourbon / flowers in the mouth / as you step out, / the doormat wet and straight / behind your foot, / the screendoor shutting and shutting / like a fact in the mind. / The most difficult thing / is to see the morning / for what it is: a foolish / autumn, a pale crust of dragonflies / frantic in their amber / coats, circling in slow /  difficult joy.

Brenda Hilman

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