Morning Glory

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Lost hideaway under the flesh

where birds of prey drink to the heart's

southward direction.

In liquid sleep a pocket is forming

of voices named in childhood years.

And from the beginning the miracle

sat on our shoulder like a butterfly,

though we never christened it as our own.

I am tossing back the weight of worldly waters

and things to be morally wounded for.

I give no more from the side of my mouth,

for the seductive shadow and the running crowd.

Plain as the path to heaven, I kiss the dread

and let it drift down sea. I open a room

where the light catches my breath.

I am breathing a morning glory.

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Copyright © 2002 by Allison Grayhurst
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Published in "Creative Talents Unleashed" August 2018
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