6am easter day
sitting at the kitchen table
filing my nails
with a worn emory board,
it’s supposed to be spring,
but steam still hisses in the pipes,
the resurrection and the life,
vanished friends whistle
like leaves,
my eyes swell with memory,
blue blood of morning
rises in my veins,
good old sun pours clear light
into my tea,
future is a blossoming tree,
sea-saw life, please keep
rocking me, rocking me
rocking me.