Morning returns the shift from shadow into light sweeping around our world like a rhyme, like a rhythm, again and again and again it seems to come and go –
But no. We are moving, not it; I, and not they; you, not not.
If I could hear the Earth growling on its axis, would it sound any different? This breath of wind, this breeze from the sea, this sunlight veiled by morning clouds, how. Your whisper of good morning. My eyes, opening. Water on my face.
If I remember to wash my hands, then I smile in pleasure. God says –
Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow.
We are an unfolding cube, time. Somewhere else, is not here. This –