You are the morning shrouded
like midnight infused with the breath
of cheer and waking, of sleep;
how is it you carry the world upon your spine
without so much as a grimace to show
its weight? Show me, tell me, my friend,
for I am sinking.
In the light haze of dusk you capture
like photographs of joy
and pain, which roll
off you, out of you, moments
which do not scrape
your skin from your bones, but sing
the verses of life.
How is it you carry this weight?
but serving only light like a meal
to the starving?