Who Loves the Sun

Quick, raise the blinds. This is the morning now,
And you don’t want to miss it. Could have clouds,
Could be pretty, a colorful sunrise,

Could be one of those mornings that feels like
The morning to sweep away all the days
And all their mornings that came before it,

One of those mornings that are the dawning
Of a new day, as it were, a new kind
Of day, inaudible trumpets blaring

And all that. You’re such a mayfly sometimes
In your own mind, waking up astonished
That yesterday wasn’t all after all.

You hobble over and haul on the blinds,
And sure enough, new morning, though it’s grey.