I locked the door on Danger
each night until I found him lying
next to me, looking
exactly like Love.
Day forged black to gray
to flame until everything
blazed. Dust illuminated
like fairies. Daffodils in the yard
sprang from clay. The man
still slept, golden and harmless,
his fuzzy brown sweater
slumped on a chair.
How many numb nights I tugged
his cable-knit tighter around me,
when all along I could have shrugged
it to the floor for the orange cat to nap on
and shivered until morning. But
I didn’t see what I couldn’t see.
That’ll take some self-forgiveness.
Dawn crept in when it did,
one minute earlier than yesterday.
That was the only difference.
Now I walk with bare arms
into the buckeye-leafed spring,
where white flowers birth cherries,
where morning clears her crow throat.