Ingratiate the new day

as the shadows reach

long into your eyelids

to wake you from

deep black sleep, where

the thought of lifelessness

was warm and welcoming

and cold and cool

and beautiful, and your

eyes, with broken crust,

break open and see

the blank white of

the ceiling, dancing with

the early morning shadows

like old hieroglyphs claiming

there might be some

reason for the future

you might live in,

assemble yourself

and move forward into

that day—pull yourself

out of the covers

the way an anchor

might drag on the

coral deep below the

black sea and dress

yourself for the job

you’re qualified for or

the one you always

wanted, but still somehow

doesn’t feel as enticing,

and try to dig

deep as the blue

sky cracks open from

the night time gray

shell and that’s it…

That’s invigoration,

that’s destitution, that’s legitimization,

that’s fortitude and productivity

And beauty. Each day

is a seed in

the Earth waiting to

grow into the tall

ironwoods outside your window which scratch your eyes open in the early morning light.