we lie almost-awake in bed,
breathing slowly,
waiting for dawn to come;
then dad’s arms cradle our heavy bundle
of blankets and feigned sleep
into the outside,
where crisp forgetful air clashing
with our warmth meets us
at the open door;
feeling the movement down
the porch steps,
across the grass, down into the car,
until at last the seatbelt
closes around us
and we are waiting for the road

the car begins to move, the shadows
and the clouds play catch
with our finger pressed
against the window –
light fades up into the sky
and the freckles of street lights
and bright windows
start to be put out;
we feel the calm of an open day
press against our spirit
at five years old,
the haze of empty thoughts as the stars
get swiftly pulled away
from the dawn

______________________________________________

now, the morning pulls us along,
magnetism that fills our minds
at first light
with older thoughts,
older worries that pull us from
uneasy rising
into uncertain days;
the sun rises and sets in a cycle
that has worn down our memory
from its repetition,
and if we venture
to the road
in the early morning light
we will have a place to be,
with no more days of being
an eternal passenger

we beg those early hours to come slower,
give us time
to open the windows and breathe;
don’t tempt us into constant motion –
let us feel the hug
of our own cozy, robed silhouette –
remember the dreams
we used to whisper
to the clouds and the stars
on those early mornings long ago?
press five fingers to the
frigid glass and feel the ache –
we can only take
how much our busy hands will hold