Meditation Before Sunrise

Stumble from the sheets
to check the glow of time,
a collision with the layers
of mystery as it passes.

I sit in the euphoria
of the silence of the house.
No music. No hum of a fan.
No voice spoken in harsh whisper.

Only the treasure of the breath
that digs past consciousness
into the humus of thoughts,
discovery after discovery
of all that was forgotten,

uncovered by the archaeology
of Memory wiping her hand
over the top of the box,
sneezing and coughing
as dust rises.

Count the beads,
cool and blue with the night,
each round globe an offering of prayer
as the heart opens to the possibility
of love.