Amid early morning dreams
your form comes before me
unknowably thin beneath the hooded
black robe.
You have a face that is lined and pure.
Absent of expected fierce expression
or sickle, you have tired eyes
faded down to watery grey
oceans deep.
You hesitate to take my arm.
Dawn appears warm and vague
with its white complacent cotton sheets
and cocooning husband, angel daughter
still asleep.
You wander back to the Unseen.
And I resolve to buy a juicer.
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