LAUREL RUST

photo by Ayn Carrillo-Gailey

APRIL MORNING 

The light 

comes earlier now. 

It comes in and sees 

what should not be seen. 

Perhaps this is why 

it remains so quiet, 

so steady. It opens 

all the drawers 

of day, the tidy ones 

and the ones that have been 

rummaged over and over 

again. It opens the latches 

of leaves, the blinds 

of sorrow, the lockets 

of dew. It opens the hook 

and eye 

of waking, all the little

snaps 

of agony, desire, hope. 

I am amazed 

at its tolerance.