Morning

The kind of morning
When silver moon
Has worked
A double shift
Is hanging around
Round in the western sky
Before clocking out

The kind of morning
When blinding sun arrives
Round in the eastern sky
Right on time
Carrying a box of crayons
Ready for the opening bell

They look straight across
Their shared work
Tip their hats
Wave and smile
As old friends do

Then quite unexpectedly
Cloud chimes in
Offering a rainbow
While the stars
Silently applaud

It is that kind of morning
Where poets realizing their lack
Should put down quills
Fall to knees
But alas
Are compelled to
Scratch weak words
On the canvas

Wise enough
Not to ask for
Or expect forgiveness
We know what we do
We hope for tolerance
The grace of
An unpublished review

Christie 2-19-2011