Time means nothing on this morning of early waking
as I look to the screen, blinking at the face of a clock
enameled with age.
I genuflect to that ritual that defies time,
so engrained in my being that I can't help myself
any more than I can resist my next breath
or the firing of the impulses of the thoughts
that line up
moment after moment
for attention.
The moon is setting
outside to the west
and I am reminded
of the soft animal of my body
loving what she loves.
This hibernating self
rolls over, yawns into comfort
and into the warm and lingual states of sleep,
eliding the consonants and vowels of days
into the whispers of forgotten foreskin
and dreaming deeply
of Love's sacred power.
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