Sliced portions of the sun
arrive upon the backs of tired butterflies
My dry morning skin
breathes oil of gratitude
Each formed bead of energy
rattleswithin the closedcannister of the day
Taps that control the flow of u.v.a.
closed as the maid of night steps near
The rumour is
the Sun andher gown of glory
Shall again rise
letting her warm robe fall upon me
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