Arctic Summer

Every morning at drop-off
those rose window eyes turn
to his, he falls to the floor
in front of the altar

Every morning the angel says
"I love you" in a silver-spun whisper
he barely hears sometimes
because the sun has just risen in his face

Every morning he says "I love you, too"
through throat tight with tears on a leash
knowing awareness for precious moments
mayfly in a hyperborean landscape

Every morning, walking out the door
chill descending on his heart
he prays the sun will rise again
bathing him in the gold of an arctic summer