"En La Mañana con Café Solo"
by Pamela Sayers

When Saturday arrived, Friday had
left its cobalt print,
merging nighttime dreams
into daytime’s awareness

A hook, digging in,
removing dubious strands,
dotting greenery as

a landscape’s knife slices
the sky’s veins, leaving
contrasts on poinsettia petals

aligning before me, winking,
wilted, chanceless …

Everything’s clear, watching
birds bathe sunshine;
nothing grinds
morning’s vibrations

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