tomorrow will be a Wren

  
 
   
   
there is little evidence  
that the day was ever  
here  
   
the last bit of sun peering  
through the kitchen window  
   
the memory of a quick  
and easy meal gather  
around the crumbs  
on the counter top  
   
a half finished smoke  
perched on the rim  
of an old glass ash tray  
   
there is silence  
   
there is stillness  
   
and fear slips away    
like a balloon thru    
the fingers of a careless  
child  
   
and I know:  
   
there is a sky waiting  
to give birth to rain  
   
... somewhere  
   
there are lovers fighting  
to hold on  
   
... somewhere  
   
there are tigers streched  
out like soft taffy and  
sleeping on a hot    
jungle    
floor  
   
... somewhere  
   
but not  
here  
   
here, there is only  
the sound of my  
breathing  
   
the rhythm of my  
heart  
   
the thought of my  
thoughts  
   
and my blood  
on  
God's hands  
   
and I know  
   
tomorrow will be  
a Wren singing  
high from the    
trees