I miss the mornings, when there’s no one around.
When I would buckle my belt as a state trooper would his holster
and start my day sharp as an arrow, aimed at the center.
But there is no one to pull over now, nothing to investigate.
Just a squirrel whistling down from a tree, a bird hopping across the lawn.
Still I am on my haunches studying the ground for the meaning that explains it all.
In the mornings you can imagine what it would be like if none of us were here —
I free a spider trapped in the sink, help a snail find its shade.
I am a biased god, I believe in right and wrong.
When it’s done I hang my gun, then dream the same dream I’ve saved someone.