Poetry

This Fruit, the Day

I give each new day to you like a fruit, wrapped when it is picked, all the better to protect its sweetness and surprise: bite, chew, devour to your heart’s delight for which this day was made. No wrongs or fault encompass what you do for me, your prayer is mine to keep; I am just as absorbed in you while its after-taste prolongs through the day’s end until the night holds you fast. Even drifting sleep is pure prayer and, as you pray, I will prepare another day.  

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