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mornings
the fresh darkness
at my kitchen table

my toes are cold
this Sunday morning
hot tea in hand

I slip into selfishness
again to remember
my forgetfulness

early fall chill
just a few walkers
in the dark morning

aspiring every morning
reflecting every evening

there are crystals
covering the landscape
this March morning

enjoying the company
of poetry
in these early hours
before work
sipping tea

morning again
alarms calling
my wife to wake

I am in love
with the cold wind
and dark early walks

bright and early
digging through
a forest of thoughts

my insomnia is deep
I forget reality as soon as I see it

Poets to read

Samuel Menashe