(no subject)
Design.
When the day finally falls
on our ears does it start in us a swell
just as you had hoped? Our chests
rising to meet the morning, the cool first light
like pebbles cracking through the window.
It lands in us, burrows down like bullets, sends
our blood bubbling up and over. The day
creates in us a brimming wound, a basket
of ribbons overturned. Morning is a pain
so common it synapses: comfort and
calm. How to explain our relief
through the clang of alarm? Still breathing.
And the ground, still settling
somewhere beneath us.
When the day finally falls
on our ears does it start in us a swell
just as you had hoped? Our chests
rising to meet the morning, the cool first light
like pebbles cracking through the window.
It lands in us, burrows down like bullets, sends
our blood bubbling up and over. The day
creates in us a brimming wound, a basket
of ribbons overturned. Morning is a pain
so common it synapses: comfort and
calm. How to explain our relief
through the clang of alarm? Still breathing.
And the ground, still settling
somewhere beneath us.