Pink Cotton Promise (Glenroy Lent #10)

Even in new homes, morning has old narratives
formed by other mornings,
by schedules, by delays.

So I approach the day as though it’s been before,
as though
its parameters are fixed,

its possibilities known.
Adam beheld the first sunrise,
called himself inventor. I

almost ignore the miracle, too entangled
in strands of ground to see sky,
until

a scattering spool
of morning-pink cloud-thread
entwines my eye.

Not a word, as such,
but a message nonetheless,
a promise in this time of dust:

If this is how I hold the clouds,
then how much more…

And I am caught:

a moment between ash and new birth.
New Adam knows dust
and I am consoled in this knowledge.

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