Mornings allow me to forget.
The bright glare of day sweeps out
the cobwebbed shadows of my mind-
builds a shining, weak wall against those
dark corners.
But the presence of night
causes the wall to crumble,
as swiftly as those Jerico, and as completely.
It is at those times,
suddenly waking and vulnerable,
that I realize that you are not there,
not there, never there,
and I miss, before I can remember to forget,
the soft weight of your cheek on the pillow,
the angle of your shoulder, cradled in night,
the smooth line of your cheek,
the delicate curve and dip of your eyelid,
the sweet parting of your lips,
the simple precious presence of you,
for a moment happy, for an hour,
as you are steady and silent in sleep.
Now, your safe night blends into mine,
making my pretense into
a hollow of guilt allowed,
sweetly tolerated, where I acknowledge the ache,
and let myself wallow in sorrow-
but only in this darkest time of night, between
the unwelcome spells of a judging day.
