Morning’s journey through the smoke of birds,
the flat sheets of faded sky, is mine alone
but my small companions also wake early
to be fed and bundled for the day
the scent, strength, and reach of their arms
tucked into my head. We move ahead.
And though I may seem to—
No. Do forget to chart or care
about them under the stern pace
of university windows and computer screens
like differently uniformed, shutter-eyed guards,
I captain this journey too, alone. Too alone.
But the mornings, getting to there--
It might as well be that it is
her dimpled fists that grasp the wheel
his bejewelled eyes that watch the road.
their voices and breaths that map me