This entry is part 26 of 92 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2011


My heart bows to the field streaked
by the sun’s rare currency this morning

to the worries that call my name
over and over like I am their favorite child

to the ridiculous kindness
of the wild turkeys’ chatter

to you who’ve called
me stranger, friend, lover

to you who’ve sung me to sleep
and kissed me in doorways

to you who’ve made space
for me on this window-ledge of words—

And you on the edge of the field, I bow to you
all in shadow, your patience outlasting us all


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← Letter to Leaving or StayingLetter to Love →


2 Replies to “Salutation”


    All that it takes to remember that I am still with you
    is this morning’s sun, glaring from a clear blue sky

    and I have never absconded, never left your side
    even when I found myself at the edge of the field

    merely a part of your life’s curious appurtenances,
    someone you’d remember when the muezzin calls

    from his minaret, or angelus intoned from emporia
    microphones, or when the dry season lends penitence

    its hauteur from random worshippers of a crucifixion
    forgotten in the hill of skulls, a mocking flagelation.

    I will be there when litanies of pain fill your evenings,
    I will be there when you lose all faith in love or dreams.

    At the edge of the field, I will be there, waiting for you
    in the shadows, until you finally stop running away from me.

    —Albert B. Casuga

    a sacro

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