I often think about
what I should do with the light in the morning
when my bare feet brush the cold tiles,
my dark locks in disarray,
and the cumulus of pale sheets
match my early complexion.
The sky’s premature blueness through the blinds
is brighter in my dreams,
but neither last long enough.
To extend the duration,
I reach for a record so classic,
that makes the coffee pot bottomless
and morning pastries flakier.
With the travel section of the paper
and the birds chirping in proper union at my arsenal,
I’ve started to realize that
morning is where real opportunity resides —
steeped for hours and sweetened with honey.
It’s before the cartoons start
and the businessmen warm up their cars.
During the sky’s identity crisis —
whether to a be a warm orange,
Or to grant the rays residency —
those who sit down with a cup of caffeine
and look at the same hazy heaven as me
realize how tragic it would be
to live in a world without mornings.
Because it’s here where the accumulation of hectic weeks and months
are neutralized by the tunes of Sinatra and Astaire
and an exquisite elegance emerges.
My fellow early risers soon realize
that the light in the morning can always stay –
reflected in our eyes and fueling our ambitions.
As I sit near the window,
with the seemingly impossible feat of
holding the delightful early glow,
I begin to wonder,
if some can believe six impossible things before breakfast,
why can’t I?