Dawn again.
This is yesterday repeated- unprecedented,
another blush of rose
around the crease
where sky (TAB A) doesn’t tire
of fitting into earth (SLOT B);
never tires but always questions
whether this, indeed, is how it goes.
At thirty years
it’s time to start,
just as it was and also wasn’t
at twelve, at five:
Get out there.
Stand up tall.
Make a difference.
Save the world.
He had some ideas
that seem less show-stopping
now that he’s packing up.
He’ll have to rely on the
double assurance
that all has been said before
although never quite yet fully spoken.
Before he goes he’ll kiss his mother
pet the cat
and turn these rooms
into Gospel truths
that will not make the final draft.