Tuesday Mornin

Tuesday Mornin dawns so grey
It’s like a stone turned into sky
and weathered snow and
now the ice is creepin over the lake

It seeps into the water’s cracks
and paddles itself to the shore
But why aren’t these patches all
filled up with the sleepin waves?

I look towards my light and see
that it’s gonna feel so cold
So cold they say the wind is hot –
it fills me on the inside

Little words around sunset aren’t
dawn; they’re like the stony lake
And always paddlin precipitation
I take and leave the mornin light

where I can still see it

M.
Dec 1/15

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