revision

Bear Jaw

Mornings at this window sipping

dawn black, coffee fogging

an image of the Blessed Virgin

bestowing grace, feathering

the first hard edge of the day,

blurring the dog out combing

the yard for clues, mornings

                palming our bear jaw,

emerged

           ages ago after all night

                    rain on Big Bay de Noc,

mornings reliving that day, 

your red boots, smashing mirrors

of standing water, still finding

your feet and the bear jaw,

an ivory stave working free

of old rail bed torte, mornings

           illuminated by a talisman

plucked

       from the sill, humming a memory

               working free of night.