Broken has morning
every morning past –
once whole days
shattered into billions of memories;
blasted into archives
of paper, pixel, sound wave
receding far into space
gone.

All the mornings
brilliant streams of light
held hands, prayer hands;
sunlight on the wall –
fluttering light
from the open window
and blown curtain.

Broken has morning
giving the new day
again fresh in January cold
dripping fir, birch, cedar
just like the first morning.

Portland, Oregon – January 31, 2016