Morning Prayer
The sun begins its path across the window.
I lie heavy and full after sleep, a sack of flour,
thanking the lingering cobwebs
of dreams for their mysterious metaphor.
There was a sadness falling asleep
that I cannot remember now;
my mind, a machine defaulting
to useless, repetitive motion,
wakes as a soft, stirring organ.
I treasure these moments, so clean
and shimmering with possibility,
windows of the wisdom
that I can emerge into the day
as any sort of creature,
more compassionate, more present
than ever before.
I savor them, feel them dissolve on my tongue,
inscribing them inside myself
for the times I am afraid of change
instead of comforted by it.
I will remember the awareness of purity,
letting words like birth and death
simply collapse into renewal.