praise be to the leftover night

love poem on a monday morning: pandemic poem #3

Praise be to
the leftover night
and to the sun
itching to rise.

Praise be
to the ones
who woke up tired
sitting here
with coffee
about to rise.

Praise be
to the babies
and youth
coiled in their blankets
dreaming
with their fists raised.

Praise be
to the ones
zipped in tents
layers upon
layers upon layers
to raise the heat.

Praise be
to the gloved hands
that heal at all hours
and praise be
to the thermometer
that’s numbers
do not rise.

Praise be
to all those who didn’t sleep
terrified
of the mistakes they made
worried the cost
may rise.

Praise be
to genius
tapped out on keyboards
sung out in songs
written out in documents
praise be
to the people organizing
the people
who will rise.