Here Comes The Sun

MARIA LAGARDE

WITHOUT A MOMENT’S NOTICE

In the winter dawn hours

while I lay half asleep, half awake

I gaze at the window and make

out the silhouette of old trees

standing motionless outside

their skeletons and calloused skin

exposed, bare and true

Then without a moment’s notice

a greeting, gentle and warm

– a smidgen of light from the sun –

touches their cold silence like a

kiss on a mother’s forehead

 

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