What the Night says to the Grass

Like the crack of dawn,
what is prematurely broken

cannot be fixed. Insides nod
off in ingenuity, heat curls

up the underside & moistens
with day. Morning is only

a matter of time. Though gradual,
change begins somewhere

even if it is believed that the dark
betrays nothing. Better to wait,

to fashion tiny monuments
in response to every footstep

that brushes along each slender
strand. Afterthoughts do not mend

but comfort & the sky can hold
as many as you can conjure.