the read line

the mornings that we watch
the mornings that we don’t
dancing temporal hopskotch
the things we won’t
the things we might
transition of day into night
a red line underscores
a red line comes before

some days we labour to walk the path
as if the black ice turned to glass
to reflect the fear deep in your hearts
some day there will come a thaw
hope with its foot in the door
not come to try and sell you things
but confident with the hope it brings