Charles F. Thielman – Ⅰ

Spine Waiting for Sunrise 

 

 

 

 

The children of four days of rain,

having left the arms of spruce

pool above roots and listen

as the black-haired goats

of evening slip inside loam.

 

*

River crests splice her city,

work-day ramps flared

with truck thunder

 

as she arranges

fragments of self,

mirror shards glued with java.

 

*

Red frisbee launched,

chased by her black lab.

Hot java mug on porch rail,

 

birdsongs cross dawn canvas,

the sky before work above

her dream-seeded veins.