Morning

The fog lifts; uncertainty thins.

Light slices through like an avenging angel’s blade, piercing the dark.

Today arrives.

Yesterday loosens into memory.

Tomorrow waits as a dream.


My heart is light; my head, heavy.

So much to think, and more to do.

The body bargains with the warm protection of quilts and covers.

I stretch—like a butterfly working free of its chrysalis.

Legs swing over the bed, meeting cold, hard floor.

Summer has slipped away; the morning chill heralds autumn, a preface to winter.

Time and age voice their objections; my joints creak as I rise.


The air hums as the element wakes the water.

Steam ribbons upward; scalding water crosses roasted beans—

my morning, my lifeblood, my wakefulness.


I smell. I sip. Heat singes my tongue;

the familiar drug floods my body, waking every part.

Nothing added.


Time to begin.

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