Today’s bonus “poem in the pocket” from Michael Miller

To My Daughters, Asleep

Surrounded by trees I cannot name
that fill with birds I cannot tell apart

I see my children growing away from me;
the hinges of the heart are broken.

Is it too late to start, too late to learn
all the words for love before they wake?

                 –Robin Robertson

A note from Michael:
With our son and his pregnant wife arriving on April 2nd from New Orleans, this seems like the poem I should be carrying.