KIERKEGAARD'S HOUR

In the quiet dawn
adorning God
even before our socks
are darned on our feet
or breakfast is served
late that we imagine
in a Sunday sermon
on sin and the paraclete,

From heady mornings
under shade trees
and in love with the world
and our pride is hurt
in laughter of a child
on bumptious balloons
or over the breeze on swings
even when we turn
the clock back
in somnolent evenings
we turn to a poet
walking in streets
marked Dane
with his glasses off
taking in the rain.