All of a sudden the old song I tried to
tie like a mask to the face of an old lover
takes the form of your face and your voice.
An old hymn that I loved,
that I find out you’d been singing.
I look beautiful in the mornings.
I know I can’t
parroting every praise you sing,
but you must know the same for you. I won’t
chew your kindness and spit it back,
but I will wear your hands in the morning
with more pride than you can know.