Soft tissue of love

In the sky     a vast orange ball of fire
it sustains our life and brings me coffee
on those dry Monday mornings when I can
feel the dead dust in the back of my throat
Grace to be alive
                         to enjoy these small

mercies    Life rises up out of the bed
showers and dresses in preparation
for the poem on the page that has yet
to be written        In my make-believe world
a dog chews on an old bone in the yard
while in the house that Jack built the poet
awaits spontaneous combustion : thinks
of jasmine   of truth    and beauty    the bloom
of her body
              the soft tissue of love

John Lyons

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