Crooked

17 0 0
                                    

can i bury myself in leaves
and my own childish amazement
at how the earth wakes up every morning

how the ants build homes for themselves
and the bees understand politics

can i lie still under my own
bewilderment and soak in it

can i bathe in wonder
my eyes set on the blue, frothy sky
as it changes colors
and opens its mouth to sing

Morning PoemsWhere stories live. Discover now