spring/morning

it’s my first spring
sober 

before the sun
feeling its warmth
without 

the red-faced fever
of alcoholism. 

alien birds sing
daily
epiphanies 

of love and
new faith. 

i ash my
cigarettes on our
brick home 

& let the wind
free me of
fault. 

i have too many ghosts
in my rear view mirror. 

but morning continues
and i write you 

an
explanation:
“will unload 

the dishwasher,
didn’t want to 

while you were sleeping.”