hafiz in the mornings

i've been reading hafiz in the mornings

and letting my hair get very tangled

and when i get to my fiftieth poem i

wonder, how many poems in a day?

there are no limits.

because a poem is in our breath

and in our food

its in our walk

and our wrinkles

its in our toes

and underneath our fingernails

its in the occilating fan

and in the shadow of leaves on

the window screen

its in the linear silence of a room

and in the screams of children

its in the flutter of book pages

being passed through anxious hands

and the push on closed eyelids

when sadness comes rushing in

its in the refreshed afternoon sun

after taking all morning to get up.

a poem stays with you;

when you need it

it's there.

and all these poems are just poems

unfinished of something someone

somewhere wanted to say,

they are the whisper of a

heartbeat and with my

heart i keep them

to keep beating

and breathing and

to keep moving forward.