Yesterday, Papa in the nursing home,
laughing at a life now imagined.
A moment later, asleep.
I searched the eves
of the building for wind chimes
I could hear but not see.

Yesterday, my dog with her muzzle
now graying, laughing at sandpipers
on the dawn – mottled beach.
I searched the bluff
for a cypress that used to stand
just there.

Today, the broken morning,
and the justice, and the wind.

Broken Morning by J. Kyle Kimberlin
is licensed under a Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.