The lost page ages,
the dream wakes reluctant,
a message in watery ink
slithers away.
So soon the sun warms a brick pillow.
The first thirst to rise
is for regret redone.
Repent is the brand new name
of gathered dew overflowing.
Mercy whispers, “Wisdom
is a kiss in the cleared mirror.”
God’s promise is the premise
of the day’s smile,
laugh at yesterday’s grip
and hold the folded
Hands.