The rooster calls
breaking the fragile stillness of a Sunday morning,
roof top dogs echo his cry,
clanging church bells fade in the distance,
dawn has come too early
we roll back into a restless slumber
Our night of lovemaking fades into the
cacophony in the streets.
Blinded by God's Holy light,
memories of the night's dark dance
fly away with the crows and grackles.
Something has happened
in the dreaming and the loving of the night.
We try to grasp the new relation between us,
to preserve the memory and time
when we became the we,
holding a new essence we cannot understand.
The moon retreats
We clutch our shared spirit,
it carries us through the day.
-W Roger Carlisle
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