waking into sleep, take your waking slow

You wake up a sphere
of clear crystal and the bed
is in you. The blinds shoot

curved through your belly
and light glints where
there are no eyes.

You roll out of bed
and surprising legs lift
you, hands touch

your belly, shoulders
open, tangled hair
catches still

air, and the invisible
eyeball itches,
now two.

You scratch their edges,
rub with clumsy fists. Blink.
Shuffle to the toilet, the mirror.

And the flesh’s uncertain
and certain longings begin
knotting the endless net

of thoughts by which you
organize your day into
that which you

want and don’t want
to fall through you. This
is the morning’s way.

with thanks to Roethke, Emerson and Tenzin Wangyal


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