Glorious

Morning Glories

Norbert Krapf

First thing

summer mornings

I would come out
to the porch,
tiptoe down the steps,
pad barefoot
across the grass

Stand behind the trellis
and look up to see
how many of her
morning glories
had opened.

They were so blue

and pure, beaded

with dew

as if miniature

gateways to the skies

head swayed open

allowing me
to ramble
into infinity.