Sonntag

You were the quiet morning with hurried steps,

the aged creak of the swinging blue doors,

the clipped tone that declared my name

in the summer.

You are now the quiet nights in smoky streets,

the sinking hole within my chest,

the unknown ache in every word

whispered in prayer.

I am the storm that could have been,

the inch just barely out of reach,

the vibrance that demands

and says remember!