Ungodly Hour {a poem}

South on 91 in the dark,
my boy in the passenger seat
listening to songs about home
and loss and love, but mostly love.

Departures keep right,
hold your babies tight and then
watch them walk into the terminal
and let them go with a prayer.

North on 91, to your right
the sky unpeels itself,
revealing a hidden sun
that has never once failed to rise.

Mile after mile, from that first
gash of color to a burst
so bright it's a feat
to keep your eyes on the road,

you wonder if the other drivers
have this thought, that you're sharing
in something holy at what's so often
called an ungodly hour.

Whoever called it that didn't wait
long enough to see the bruise
of darkness heal into breathtaking
beauty, didn't get to see this dawning.

By the time I arrive home,
he is boarding and I am yawning,
the rest of my family still asleep,
the morning now underway,

the new day promising both
everything and nothing.
It's up to us now
to decide

how we will greet the coming hours.