If I had my way I’d be getting up around 10 with no alarm clock having drifted awake
resurfaced, like a deep-sea diver.
But instead I’ve pulled myself up (if not out) of bed sitting here, writing to clear my head to return me to the world of words, of thought, of physicality and away from the dreams that seem so real.
Maybe that is why I write after all not just in the morning not just in the mode of poems but everything, all the time.
Putting pen to paper, pulling words down from the air and making them sit and stay like dogs doing tricks is how I wake up every moment is how I come back into the present, the best gift of all.