Morning arrives charred
served on a disassembled night
its curled edges, ashes on waking eyes
no smoke in sight, no trace
where old mistakes aspirate donated lungs
burked storms under soft pillows
plump with the geese not the feather

as if a night could not satiate viscera of dreams with its cant
as if doubt drains into power pipelines as tear ducts dry
and conscience blazes in defiance fueled bonfires

had you not heard panting in medicated doldrums of their minds
had their stuttered remorse turned the soft soil of tomorrow
had you not loved only to stay alive
morning would have arrived perky and bright
and you too would have heard the finch outside
instead of the crackling of the fire

– Silva Merjanian

© 2014, poem, Silva Zanoyan Merjanian, All right reserve; poem is excepted from “Rumor,” Silva’s second poetry collection.  Both Silva and publisher, Cold River Press, are donating all profits from the sale of this book to Syrian-Armenian Relief Fund