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.”
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