Aubade
       

O morning earthsmell like small
bent basil, a child blinking open

wet with thanksgiving a
sky we lay under talking over

birdchatter we spoke the bee
tumble gradually an understanding our

lungs became pockets
handing out the days

saying here take it just take it
in your hand who knew you would

be so good at ax throwing what
aim I love the arc of arm

the fog of morning with my teeth
on your ear, the morning come

through the windows like children
awake now It's Christmas

all the lights your hand couldn't
we be opening each other

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Copyright © 2021 Lindsay Illich All rights reserved
from Fingerspell
Black Lawrence Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission