Commuting
A day breaks
Unfettered by guilt
or gravity. The foothills
seem to be laying back,
reclining. The dirt
sighs, aware of the heat that will
return unabated. The water flattens
and seems to shutter in the face of the first light.
Receiving all kinds of waves, long and short,
and some that go right through it. I am
slowly putting on a shirt in the guest
room. Quietly moving to the door,
car, airport. So early that the
suburban sprinklers are just
starting their pre-programmed
cycles. And I can’t tell if it is
morning or night.
The sky providing
No clues.
