I like morning best: delivering
papers with my son, the dew lit grass.
Our coffees, flushed with milk, make
the sharp air sharper
as we move from house to house,
lobbing dailies into dawn's bliss.
Once upon a time, others walked this route;
we feel them in the wind, the rustle of leaves.
We are their connection
to these houses, the old neighborhood, the moment
as we move forward, just as they did,
through the ribbon of time
shouldering less and less with each toss
headed home with every step we take.