Sometimes before the alarm,
sometimes after,
I turn and see the blue,
a wedge between wall and tree,
and know the world
will be alright.
No matter
its red dawns of anguish,
its weary gray suffocating skies,
its long orange and heavy sighs,
it will be
blue
again,
and blue is Creator’s kiss
and pledge of cool breath
that follows morning’s glimpse.