Six thirty a.m. Beside my bed a drawer
One quarter open ,like a lip in the gloom,
Pouting, reluctant to say what has happened.
Light increases at the window, edging
The dark rectangle of blind with white.
Spring dawn is pouring in, unstoppably,
Like the silent rising tide of a brightening sea
At the beach of a million shells where childhood
Left. Inevitably this day will be stacked
Away with others, like plates in a cupboard,
Clean as answered questions, but in this moment,
I may taste salt air and walk that mystic shore.