Dawn

Dawn, like a curious child, peeks through my window. She calls directions– “Be thankful! The air is filled with pages of a cookbook! “Be still! Your mind waltzes at a ballroom pace, your blood pumps fast as bad news.” I stuff my ears with the wool of shorn desires–wiry fingers itch my ear drums. The velvet door opens in a gust, the late winter air catches in my throat. Dawn’s caress moors on my skin, like crows gossiping on the eaves of a landlord’s house. Zephyrs of the collective unconscious tickle my throat & I manage to whisper “Blessed are those who rise each day & breathe.”