The Girl Who Bought My Bibles

Since she was seventeen,
she wakes early to watch
the gray-frost morning
yield to the day landscape.

She adores the way night
fights a graceful retreat
from the penumbra
of every pine shadow.

She can play them, too,
these branches waving
a canopy of shade.

This is her song.

She shunned this dog
since she was seventeen and singing:
 I'll be damned if I dance
and I'll be damned if I don't.

She dreamed this scene
for the rest of her life.

Dancing with the last cold
breath of last night,

she was seventeen and singing:

The day is broke.
Be wary; look about.

Then, window, 
let day in
and let life out.