What the Morning Knows

In my case sleep renews
and strengthens my resolve
to go and see the world
for more than dreams.
It’s only at mid-
afternoon that horrors
stir and leisurely creep in.
The world remains the same
while I turn mean.


You see through what it is
at once, by morning’s vaunt
and wake up slow, laconic,
despondent at the world
(that chain mail that you don)
what it demands or wants.
For you it’s at midday
that on some fluke you deem
to join the fray.


Between such opposites
our coffee steams across—
cloud cover for a vale
of scattered dreams. We talk
above this land and nod
as night’s impressions dim
and empty out like streams.
Replaced by arid worries,
work and schemes.

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