Mornings on the Terrace
In Texas, spring and lent may arrive at the same time.
This poem was first published by Foreshadow.
Mornings on the Terrace
My wails warble through the birdsong; wept words flutter between flights of lighter feathers that soar as chorus over the grass-- longings shriven to larks, chants of wrongs to wrens, bleeds of cardinal confessions, dripping heavy over distant creeks where herons rise in winds of groans and I listen for the mocking: a cry sounded as reflection blown laughed through the leaves-- instead I hear the coo of my kind confessor, the dove’s return to these trees where, together, our calls lift their song . . . a harmony of howls hovering as a strain of hope.


Love this so much: "instead I hear the coo of my kind / confessor"