The brilliance of a clouded morning
is often overlooked in memory of the sun
I have been twirling these thoughts
between my fingers for far too long
yearning to reach out through broken windows
to immerse my hand in a dense morning fog
not knowing what will find them
and to take this ache in my bones
that tends to follow me home
rinse it under the falling rain
waiting for the sun, waiting for a new day
until morning comes in a quiet dream
and I wring out these bones
and yesterday's clothes
throwing them into laundry baskets
woven from this tired soul
and taking it all out to dry