But the crisp and cold

the shudder of the morning
and the burn of burnt tea

But the smell of toothpaste
And skitter of cereal

And then you say I love you
But don’t stay to hear the answer

And then the day
the bleak forgiving blue

And the indolent obstruction
of everything in light

But then the dotted dark
where it’s harder to hide

where the crisp and cold
And the burn of burnt tea

Are But a preecher’s promise