Dawn stretches and yawns in yellow, poking fingers through vertical blind slats; into my horizontal eyes. Startling
like an ice cube slipping down spine, painful and exhilarating at the same time and maybe
Iām not ready to shove myself out. Let me be metamorphic for awhile,
lie back in this brightness and soak it in; let me radiate warm throughout the morning,
cheerfully light at noon and erode to dust in the night so that it all may cycle again like moon chasing sun, serpent slurping tail or a dog whirling circles in the dirt.
I want to swirl, right here in comfortable cotton, nighttime peace and the wreath that early Dawn weaves into me. Let me be centered in the centrifuge: the stone in the storm.
First Published By: Halfway Down the Stairs (Sept. Issue--Beginnings and Ends) http://www.halfwaydownthestairs.net/index.php?action=view&id;=237