Sunrises

The terra-cotta sunrise
is dripping backwards up your veins.
Don't you hate the card house people
that blow over again and again?

You're looking in a mirror
and all you see is blue and black.
But baby, blue is beautiful,
and there's no going back.

Pretty, swanlike feathers,
the ones that frame your face.
They cascade from your angel wings,
don't you know it ain't a race?

Every little curly-q,
the black ink hearts on your hands..
they tell you there's a tomorrow
and that you'll always have a friend.