Cynthia G. Mason

The Way The Morning Came



the way the morning came sunday struck pins and needles then awaking to your name that was some dumb luck the way the morning came every minute was a track star with no skill for running late the promised pause that never came every detail and disorder every feeble human trait i would give each one a name even if i knocked the clock off let you stir even if i doctored pages from the calendar time would be the same it could be illinois or texas i couldn’t keep the order straight but i fit the landscape in a frame and i got what the allure was i myself could hardly wait i’d be there when the hour came so when you go the ways we mark it will differ though time will be the same