Instead of Dreaming

Beauty more than bitterness makes the heart break.
—Sara Teasdale

Praise the hourglass of night
with its sand that falls, that falls
and slowly wears away the layers

we put on throughout the day.
Praise the exhaustion that comes
with the hours of peeling the fruit

and filling the jars with the white
moon of pear and the sunshine
of peach. How they become us

as we eat. And praise the ache
that comes with love when
we find ourselves alone in the

small hours of morning, warming
the home with boiling, with steam,
the hands so full, so empty.

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