Leucothea

Dawn lets you know
It's all still changing,
And you can be aware

Of this, serve your rituals,
The things you do as simple
As prayer, pulling on sandals,

Pouring black tea, unlocking
The rattletrap shop windows
Checking the news of the whatever

You consider your world,
Feeling possessive and weary
And wanting to share it all

With each other, the baby's cry,
The news in your prayers,
The lemon in your tea, the edge

Of light that's not the same
As the light all night long, now
Like a butter knife slipped under

Your windowsill, trying to pry
Something open that will not budge,
The stuck thing, the hymn.

Who knows what it is to wake up
In love with a poem you don't know
And may have to quit to understand,

The praise to decay you can taste
And swallow, sweet, acrid, lark's
Song, breakfast. You couldn't stay.