Morning is a Thief

Unmoving.
Eyes bright, pleading.
Breathing,
still breathing,
resting inside a glass box.

How tiny you were.
The first night you cried from loneliness,
so you slept tucked under my chin.

I see you in shadowy corners
and turn to empty air.

Please find my poem “Morning is a Thief”, published by Infinite Magazine.

Morning is a Thief

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