I settle down,
shake off the day.
Sometimes, I still pray.
It’s a sort of habit I never kicked.
The words built for God,
walk from my tongue,
like water from a tap.
Nevermind, that.
I roll over, and
before I sleep,
I begin to dream.
Explorations of a place that’s close,
But never seems –
quite available.
It’s like I’m leaving myself on read.
The dawn twitches open.
I know,
I’m supposed to talk about,
the glory of a sunrise,
but I’m a night-owl,
And twitching best describes,
my dawn as I yawn in,
The beginning, I guess.
Or something to that effect,
my physiology groans,
my biology rebels,
“we wake when the stars light”
they say,
Yes, I reply. I KNOW.
I talk a lot to myself in the morning.
It’s motivating, maybe, to shout sometimes,
too.
I wander down soft carpet stairs,
and watch the sea from a front-window.
I hear the gulls cry,
and think it an appropriate sound for
morning-time.
I wonder vaguely about the tides,
Sipping a hot, sweet coffee.
I wonder if something new will arrive,
right on time,
with the day-tide…
Day-tide
