Daybreak Without Caresses
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
I have to say that I was never up
In time to walk around the grove behind
My childhood home and then to cup
The orange blossoms where they bloomed all lined
Up in their citrus aisles. No dawning hand
Caressed them even though their petals, white
As pureness ever was, in mornings fanned
Out, bowed as if white angel wings in flight
To low created worlds while at primed hearts
Lay pollened yellow, paler gold like streets
Of heaven, see-through gold. These blossoms’ parts
Spoke silently like springtime paracletes.
They never gave me comfort in that hour
Of dawn, perfumed, a Pentecostal shower.