The mourning dove
catches the dawn’s red
in the gleam of her feathers
and adds her opinion to the chatter
of birds amidst the still-sleeping maples.
If their conversations were not so delightful
or their songs so encouraging in the morning,
I might guess, God, that you created birds
to make me feel guilty for not waking up
earlier or not fluttering about in work
before the sun appears in the east.
But I cannot fault the birds’ joy.
I’m up! I’m up now, God.
Where would you
like to begin?

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