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7 a.m., next Hours poem by Sheri


7 a.m.

When the work day starts,

there is a creation not made yet,

a barely beautiful thing just started,

there is movement calling out to view

an early hour opening a peanut shell

the body begs burning questions against

seeing the light in a cool whisper

picture this day in layers each hour

exposing more and more of the design

to be gradually built in like trust.

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