It’s at times like this,
when morning slides across in its straw-yellow light –
that I am slow enticed to rise
and invite the day into my life.
Somehow its poetry comes upon me like I dial
digits on a rotary phone-
awaiting a cyclic return to home position before moving on.
It’s where the music of my choice plays from beginning to end,
with static embellishment reminding me of conclusion.
The ticks and tocks of the clock drive me forward in time,
It’s the moment of morning glory – once asleep in darkness,
then blooming in the day.
Beauty – she sits in moments, but grows in continuum,
and the anticipation at these time-points are like dust in the shifting light,
and my heart wakes in hues of endurance and tomorrow.