The Light in the Morning

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,

so winsome,

so delightful

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,

rosy pink,

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?