I walk like a whisper
in the time when dark
is turning light,
when people are up
because they have to
(so it seems to me)
lights on, cars starting up,
while other houses sleep

Around my hands and arms
and in my breath, the gift —
the gift of presence
and the almost-tasted promise
of being dearly loved

Along the sidewalks,
in the grass, and in the street,
my feet step dutiful —
not yet tuned in, perhaps,
to the day’s blessings.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 17, 2017