I Awaken This Morning

by Anna Ruiz

I awaken this morning
do not count myself
among the dead,
my pen begins to write
in the quiet chapel
of my mind,
green ink blades of
lucid thoughts turn over
memories of flesh

I am inept, nearly incapacitated,
you see,
in perfect poetic
symmetry, my words icicles
of intent, never to write themselves
down,
amorphisms are no recipes for
gratitude, nothing lasts forever

just

a few petals from a yellow rose,
four horseshoes from a grazing mare,

lemon dreams of a glass-winged butterfly,
pinned against the wind.