each morning
I awake
to the sound 
of the girl
at the end 
of the hall

the sun is on
she tells me
though it’s not
not this early
or this late
in the fall

she believes
she sees light
which is enough
for me to rise
and respond
to her call

what matters
more than sleep
is these mornings
while she 
is still
so very small

in life
with a child
you have only
a handful of suns
either real or imagined
that is all