seedlings

dawn broke cold this morning.

i thought of you the way i always wanted
to think of you: as docile as my dreams
told me to be. then the morning fog shaded
the rolling hills out from the greens and
browns of late winter to the white blues
of obliviation.

gulls danced along the pale orange
plane between the tree line and
wrapped up the easter sky.

i used to be thankful you are now
a whole world away, but these
mornings have taught me otherwise.

gratitude is for the ego.

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