Up before dawn

Before the bathroom mirror
I find brief repose,
and these words appear unbidden.
I note the stubble on my face
- though is scarcely compares
to the dark, latin growth
I see on my sons -
it's as if, last night, I had lain down in the forest,
and sometime before dawn
a light dusting of dew
had frozen on my face.

Some days I believe in these words,
some days I don't.
I only know to gather them quickly
before they are beaten incomprehensible,
or buried, or erased,
by the events of the day.