when I roll over
and open the corner of one eye
and the light wiggles through like an impatient child,
my first thought is of you.
A small prayer separates my lips:
for a sprinkling of fairy dust
that I might rise from these wrinkled sheets
and leave a night of old death;
to taste a spoon full of resurrection.
And, if not too much to ask,
that as I begin to stand,
my arched back might
be green amidst brown grass
surprising a stranger passing by.
(photo by Ed Siderewicz)