I don't know if you ever are awake
late enough to hear it:
the world before it opens it eyes.
If you are able to catch the yawning
echoes of the crickets from
the windowsill where you listen.
There, it is serenity laying in wait.
The silence of nature is never
truly silent.
It hums with the burn
of the not yet risen sun,
shy behind her clouded vision.

I don't know if you ever are awake
late enough to taste it:
the world before it opens its mouth.
Before the morning showers.
That delicate smell, just before rain.
That scent of grass alive in the
shimmer of the morning dew,
alight with the purity of creation.

I don't know if you have
ever witnessed these things.
This beautiful magnificence
creeping in before the
alarm clocks.
I don't believe so,
or else there might be
understanding between us.

That sound of morning.
That smell of rain.
The taste and touch
and sight of a world
we don't know, in the
moment untampered by
the one that we do.

Burn it all.

To allow me sleep one more
morning with your hair
careless on my cheek
and the covers handily
in your possession
as I wrap my arm
around you,

burn it all.