Morning Salvage

Trying to salvage
the radiance of mind
in another morning where the fissure of fear
crawled next to my skin at the darkest hour
on the premise that I might find some shining

promise of dust
and sweat
and the blood that moves
from nothing
into everything we ever shared.

Red as a door
on a New Year's day,
freshly painted
and welcoming the stranger
to the table overflowing
with anxious breath
and doubts as ripe
as a sugary, sticky fig.