i blink into exist
ence like an itch 
behind the head i
irritate the urge 
before long i 
cease the itch is 
when did i wake with the dawn
              i stir the covers a bathroom zombie 
              thoughtless craving sleep 
              loud light & dagger eyes
when did i eat the fruit of the earth
              boxed nutrition prepared precooked
              precaution : it expires but no decay
              preserve what ought to rot
when did i mill anything but lifes grain
              a shadow splashed on ivory walls
              delicious light converted for working hours
              a mirror to sisyphus 
Then I took the bread and the cup, and I gave thanks:
baruk atah adonai, eloheinu melech haolam, hamotsi lechem min ha’arets.
baruk atah adonai, eloheinu melech haolam, borei peri hagafen.
the river cuts into the canyon
the pebble splashes down ten furlongs
our bodies sway along the canyon
the rock face greets the sunlight with birdsong
our voices carry across the canyon
the eagles soar gently and headlong
I hope in the dawn, my love,
when the light presses against your cheeks, 
before kids, dogs, and coffee,
before alarms, light bulbs, and flushes,
when you say good morning and mean it
and the mockingbird dances in the window.
My love, I smell lavender and mountain laurel.
I hear you breathing, and I know. I know.
The sun will rise against your better judgment
and cease those dreams where you taste the salty air
and feel the sand tickle your skin,
your hair encircled with daisies and baby’s breath.
My love, it will rise and I will think about this poem,
about the part where I visit your dreams 
and pick memories from an orchard nearby,
and when I bring them to you, 
you ask me to lather them on your nakedness.
In this poem, I plant a piece of you that sprouted from me.
Me—a sinful man redeemed, graced by your love and kindness
so that I now hope in your dawn, my love.
When the light presses against your shoulder blade, 
I kiss it good morning and mean it. 
And when I stroke your head, my love, I find flower petals.
David Aguilar is an English PhD student at Texas A&M--Commerce, researching bilingual interactions in writing centers. He received his M.A. in English from UTRGV and teaches rhetoric, composition, literature, and poetics. Besides a teacher, he is a poet, a husband, and a stepfather.

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