On Waking Up
This morning spills
an honest shine
and breathes
the smoke
from a boy's cigar
in our waking dreams
from a day's passing
through two stone throws
in another's dream
your abstract makes
and does whenever
the light strikes back
and moves straightway
with its words' thrust
and His boy's voice
toward two divides
and three scriptures
written over and again
on walls, floors, jars
for which my shine
brings many mornings
of happy mournings
an honest shine
and breathes
the smoke
from a boy's cigar
in our waking dreams
from a day's passing
through two stone throws
in another's dream
your abstract makes
and does whenever
the light strikes back
and moves straightway
with its words' thrust
and His boy's voice
toward two divides
and three scriptures
written over and again
on walls, floors, jars
for which my shine
brings many mornings
of happy mournings
Labels: Sylvia Plath
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