September

Sweet morning
writing

sleeping child
(she's taller now)

stories
remembering

all the ones who

died

remembering
all those
whose
fingers
playfully
touch/ed
poisons

who
wake to
Fukushima
(and everywhere)

Are we
sleeping?
listening?

there is birdsong
late summer crickets
patter of waking feet
drawers opening

the gift of a new day
the gift of solitude