The sun rises
on a virgin morning,
spilling onto the hard ground
burning
like your gaze
in an instant all that remains
of the late night frost–
exposing green grass,
black dirt
and creepy-crawlies
getting up to face the day.
Tulips,
shaking off the early chill
nod lazily as I pull on my coat
to get the mail.
The satisfying crunch
as I step
rings hollow across
the open field, where
the truth from which I hide
resides hunkered down on all-fours.
Oh, remembrance is the jackal of early morning,
and you’re still gone,
as I lick away the leftover crumbs
of last night’s dream
and walk back into the house crying.