Morning Tide

The arc of a reach.

After inhaling doubts baked in a furnace with a hint of daylilies, 

after the rhino leaps the river, tracing the shadow of the ark 

below vapor currents tailing the new doves behind the sun, 

its palpable flare a rising mirror of sublimated hopes, someone 

at the other side of the banks dares to stretch wide palms––up,

and again, as if to touch the hem of a garment and be healed.