I hope
all your mornings
are lazy mornings,
sleep soaked and
ripe with loamy imaginings,
that you
are
carried
back
in the arms of those who love you
back
to
yourself,
I hope
all your days
are cosy days,
a slow breath in
and out
to expel
yesterday’s trauma
to go on
fresh
but not unscathed
warm
but not newborn,
I hope
all your nights
are wistful nights,
that you look up
not down
feel the air
between dirt and star,
follow the sweet
hush of the street
all
the
way
to your doona.