each morning
I awake
to the sound
of the girl
at the end
of the hall
the sun is on
she tells me
though it’s not
not this early
or this late
in the fall
she believes
she sees light
which is enough
for me to rise
and respond
to her call
what matters
more than sleep
is these mornings
while she
is still
so very small
in life
with a child
you have a handful
of suns
either real or imagined
that is all