Sunday of a Morning

one word in front of the other, waking
to rise, rising toward waking, sunlight
flows through the curtains’ crack, I’m all unready
to face another day. sneezes snare me;
whence they come, what offender, I know not.
but my mind turns over the words, sounds roll
subliminal through my nether mind, sweet
to the inner ear in voice more familiar
than dawn, that daily occurrence.     inside
my head, this constant symphony rising
to glorify heaven and its triumphant
king, its deific hosts.     heart as chapel,
choir hushed on the brink of hallelujah
as the deacon raises hands to heaven.

David M Pitchford
30 Oct 2011


2 thoughts on “Sunday of a Morning

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