Morning, Nine-five,
To the tiny flowers in your garden,
And celestial ongoing bloom.
To the cadence of the sudden
Bird awakened in the noon.

Morning, Nine-five,
To a drop of light that slithers down
Down the smooth of shins and to your ankles.
Morning to the heedless way it gowns
Tips of feet unhid,
Naked toes uncovered by your blanket.

Morning, Nine-five.