Sunday

Pixabay

Today, the shrill alarm does not sound off
to drag us from our dreams. It holds its tongue.
The birds rejoice, while sunlight slides so soft
beneath the curtain’s edge. The day is young
and beautiful, no doubt, but all I want
is you. In sleep, your lines smooth out, brow calm
as water’s skin, a stone baptismal font
before the child is dunked. I drape my arm
around your shoulders. Folded, our legs stack
like deckchairs before dawn, prepared to spring
to action. Later. Stillness, now. Slip back
to sleep, or half sleep, let each moment bring
the steady draw of breath, the faithful beat.
Why rise for church? It’s here we’re most complete.

More sonnets by Hannah Whiteoak:

Waiting Out the Rain

Winter Running