December Morning

by Madelyn Hajovsky

1. 

It is only your fickle heart 

learning some sense of permanence 

as you pass from womb to womb, 

making room for the eternal Present 

2.  

is what I would say if I thought you would believe it.  

As of late, I’m not so sure that you would understand,  

what with the way the light lay like fallen gods today. 

You saw it seize the room  

with a shudder and the sepulchral sense  

that if you went back to sleep 

you would stay there.  

3. 

I wonder if, when the sun is daily buried 

in the darkling cradle of the earth,  

it is afraid 

or if, on the weary days,  

it breaks in cold protest against 

its redundant nativity.  

4. 

Give it time.  

This is only the morning mile 

between life, death, and life again.