Ah, to awake naturally

like a baby swaddled in cloth.

Sun rising over

your eye, lifting to greet the horizon;

Like shimmering fish scales through a curtain’s lace,

dawn dances through a veil of silk

leaving the imprint of a breeze,

like the lips of a lover’s covered breathing…

evidence of all things unknowable.

A clock stirs you from the dream;

like the ringing peals of a church bell.

Listening to the sound of gulls, dropping shells,

you roll from a cloud of white linen,

slipping into moccasins, wash in a basin of porcelain,

breaking fast with fresh fruit,

prayer, and a glass of water,

savor the mussels of metaphors and icons…

and the sea’s salt still upon your tongue.

Circadian rhythms

setting day by dawn, its’ end to dusk

sail calmly through the day’s

volatile zones of storm fronts

and the latitudes of temperate moods.

With two lungs, billowing bright white sails,

you rise, from the sea, as the warm air, itself

in hand, a net, releasing the fish tales of your dream…

to live forever within the myth.