spring morning begins with
the conspicuous perfume of

flowers in the air, a few stars
still yawning, the light covers

used last night thrown aside, a
warming sun gently rising in

each heart, dingy faced bums
living on the streets showing

wide smiles, mothers imagining
fairy tales to the sound of the

wind in trees, sprinklers starting
their metronome dance over dry

grass, sanitized news in rolled
morning papers, bread lifted up

across the city in thanks, and a
quick look in the holy silence

at thoughts to be cherished like
gracious heaven and unconditional