Morning Refelctions

It takes a while for corn flakes to turn mushy, I brew more coffee watch the sun opening the plastic blind just by the power of its muscular light. I’m jotting down a prayer. The words are milky with no sharp edges to scratch my gums. Jesus, who often takes possession of my black lab, sticks a wet nose into my crotch. Thin pajama’s cannot withstand a dogs wet nose for long. Now it’s trying to sniff my backside through the wicker seat of my chair tail wagging. ‘Say something about the love that passeth all understanding’ I hear a strangely canine voice intone In the third person singular. The dog sits now, looks at me intently with deep round eyes. The corn flakes are soggy already, I dip a sugar coated spoon. Sunlight rests upon a countertop flexing and stretching like the morning smile of a sleepy weight-lifter or maybe a good-hearted hooker.