My first breath of day

lingers with dreams, fresh in my eyes.

My fingers stretch, rudely awakened;

morning has arrived.


Early breezes sweep onto my windows.

A train whistles. Breaking into quiet.

Passengers prepare for the city.

The aroma of coffee steams the air.


My covers. Shields against darkness.

Protectors from dreams stealing me.

The floor. My anchor to pull me back.

A hard boundary separating me from

fiction and reality.









Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s