11-10-2013, 11:35 PM
My Morning – Second Edit
I wake. I watch. I listen.
Recalling now that I am dying,
yet this night was not my last -
impending death still pending.
My breath rises and falls,
fully tethered to this moment -
darkness gathers itself, then disappears
pale light scurries in through the broken screen.
The coffee beckons,
a bus lurches in the alley,
the dog barks,
eyeing twitching squirrels
through the fogging window.
A whistling bird,
in love with the morning
finds a red berry
high on the bramble bush,
then soars into the cloudless sky of wanting.
I rise. I turn. I pray
to a god I
don’t believe in
and hum a hymn
whose words I can’t recall.
Carefully I pour
the black and waiting coffee,
emptying its hotness
into my grateful mouth.
The cup of salvation, indeed.
Who mourns the death of one woman?
The waves of fate turn their backs,
then change their minds.
We cannot know why
the drowsy angels sleep.
My Morning
I sit. I watch. I listen.
Night gathers itself,
Then disappears.
Dawn glows behind
The faded drapes.
The coffee beckons.
Street noises begin.
The dog barks, unhappy
That he is still in,
And not out.
The bird whistles
And finds a red berry
High on the bramble bush.
A croaking raven soars into
The cloudless sky of wanting.
I rise. I turn. I pray
To a god I
Don’t believe in
And hum a hymn
Whose words I can’t remember.
Carefully I pour
The black and waiting coffee,
Emptying its hotness
Into my grateful mouth.
The cup of salvation, indeed.
Who mourns the death of one woman?
The waves turn their backs,
Then change their minds.
The horse’s mane rises up,
The drowsy angels sleep.
This is not my story to tell.
I wake. I watch. I listen.
Recalling now that I am dying,
yet this night was not my last -
impending death still pending.
My breath rises and falls,
fully tethered to this moment -
darkness gathers itself, then disappears
pale light scurries in through the broken screen.
The coffee beckons,
a bus lurches in the alley,
the dog barks,
eyeing twitching squirrels
through the fogging window.
A whistling bird,
in love with the morning
finds a red berry
high on the bramble bush,
then soars into the cloudless sky of wanting.
I rise. I turn. I pray
to a god I
don’t believe in
and hum a hymn
whose words I can’t recall.
Carefully I pour
the black and waiting coffee,
emptying its hotness
into my grateful mouth.
The cup of salvation, indeed.
Who mourns the death of one woman?
The waves of fate turn their backs,
then change their minds.
We cannot know why
the drowsy angels sleep.
My Morning
I sit. I watch. I listen.
Night gathers itself,
Then disappears.
Dawn glows behind
The faded drapes.
The coffee beckons.
Street noises begin.
The dog barks, unhappy
That he is still in,
And not out.
The bird whistles
And finds a red berry
High on the bramble bush.
A croaking raven soars into
The cloudless sky of wanting.
I rise. I turn. I pray
To a god I
Don’t believe in
And hum a hymn
Whose words I can’t remember.
Carefully I pour
The black and waiting coffee,
Emptying its hotness
Into my grateful mouth.
The cup of salvation, indeed.
Who mourns the death of one woman?
The waves turn their backs,
Then change their minds.
The horse’s mane rises up,
The drowsy angels sleep.
This is not my story to tell.