Before I wake

The sun leaps

into responsibility,

freshly pressed dripping

another delectable day

into me, though it knows

and has always known

I am still not ready

caught in a thread

spun by the same spider

that spun the night

I live between:

I should know better

than to stay in this

cocoon

with hands untwined

enough to hush the alarm

and bat unease

from creased pillows

let all dust and web

surrender to the solvent

between things.

I comb through

last night’s dream

as it pours itself into

my favourite cup,

stirring the yawning tides

and dissolving them

with the stars

and watch

with heavy eyes

as the morning shadows

dance on porcelain walls,

disappear

into the infinite window

where the oldest light

that silently lights

the distant meadow fields

lights the cracks

of this room

waits

and continues to wait

for me.

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