To My Fellow Travelers on This Planet

Outside my window,

there's no dispute,

not when it comes to bird song:

robins trill, blue-jays hack,

a new day made to order.

In this bedroom though,

the night won't quite let go,

dreams linger like fog,

eyes open begrudgingly,

my body hails inertia

as the rule we must live by.

Through the pane,

light and warm

buff their mutual attractions,

overrun skittish shadows,

thaw the chill of dark

from my skin.

At sun's insistence,

sleep's slow withdrawal,

a person is coming together.

I throw a robe around myself

to get the senses up and running.

My internal organs,

skeletal structure,

rise to the task

of descending the stairs

and later, coffee in hand,

my beliefs join the fray,

likewise my philosophy.

By the time.

my coffee's drunk,

I'm who I am.

And that's when who you are

kicks in.