After the Day

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After the Day

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.           Love is in my belly like evening tea,

            comforting after the day’s rush.

            Love is there like a discipline

            I used to own, exciting

            because of its blind determination.

 

The old man walks the alleyway

with his cane and curious eyes.

He waves to me from the window, then

stretches him arms to cup the wind.

Somewhere the stray has been saved

from the freezing-frost. Somewhere

a woman has conceived, and a dog

has found his favourite toy.

 

            Love is a monk’s old robe

            tainted a rich bluish green.

            Like twilight blankets the day

            it sits on my lap covering –

            cherished, unclaimed.

.

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© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

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