Friday, March 31, 2023


It's a curious fact
that, first thing
in the morning, 

all who re-arrive, 
at that instant, 
to their bodies 

swear that they know 
what it's like 
to be old, when

simply by finding themselves 
all together

(whether or not they 
voluntarily chose 
to rise; 

whether to an impish sun 
blithely spilling its brightness 
on water, 

or to the muted 
pall of rain out beyond 
their windowpane),

the riser doesn't just
bear witness to the dawning; 
they participate in it,

comprising, with a 
yawn, the very essence of startling 

just for a moment, 
to have done 
nothing wrong, since

every shining thing 
is young.