Moisture

The twinkling glaze over morning fields
The wintry haze shrouding bedroom windows,
a reminder of our own night’s endless breath.
The aromatic wave of honeydew and wine.
The leavener of heated rooms and day-old bread.
The friend to mist and intercourse
Conferring space for our own mysteries.
It warms our hands, cools our brow,
And raises our smallest prayers to heaven.

Published in South Jersey Underground, Issue 11.