The Sun Rises in the Yeast

evening sunrise in the close-quarters of
an airport hearing some incredible
heroes excel at parenting, feeling
some better about this breathing body
that none of us asked to wear, with time-feet
making leg-room past each other till the
daydawn is old and the inarguable
newness of the new is lost and the frenzy

of first-love curiosity becomes
what is important is: did you run the
dishwasher? did the cat come back? could you
reach that?- and as the sun has passed our
wasted heretofore, so will we pass,  unfaltering
into an irrevocable forgottenness.

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