some mornings
the day greets you quietly
and like a familiar, will
curl up next to you, softly
or climb into your lap
some times
the day greets you gently
you rise in surrender
to the moving shape
of things
some mornings
you slip into consciousness
with the same
ease you slip into dream
and the night
kisses you sweetly as you leave her arms
the day
not yet crowning, the moon
beginning the sultry-eyed final act, as
she tucks herself in before
the first tendrils of light
these mornings
you remember, with familiarity
a certain changing shape
a certain glow
a creature within, this wild one once
who followed the scent of mystery on the wind, who
knew the sound of her own
name when it was called by
all those many wild ones
once
her skirt scraped the dance floor of the sky and
the heavens split open to wash the earth again
with rain
to nourish the soil that we all grow from
she, this, I
who now wear the night sky like a blanket
and rise from dreaming's easeful wandering
to live this day like an arrow
sharp, to the point,
true and
aimed.
