Waking up to the sound of wind and rain outside my window,
natural elements with the light peering through the shade
like a shy fog. The song of cars sailing through the misty waters.
These are the things I am thinking of
when my eyes open to the world on a cold morning.
Under the same sky the houses – some still
slumbering while others have windows which glow
like diminutive flames. The dream I was having is slipping away
down to the world from which it came. The Greeks
used to believe that Sleep and Death came from the underworld.
Sleep would release you, but Death would hold on – hang onto you
(for lack of a better phrase) for dear life.
The birds are waking up now and so have the neighborhood
cats which I can hear slipping at the side of my house –
outside like some apparition trying to find the right path.
I think about you and wonder if you are awake,
looking at the clock
it reads 6:22 AM and I am still tired, wanting the dream back,
and the warm bed,
but I flip my pillow over to the cooler side for comfort.
All these things around me,
the animals that fly in the air
or crawl about, the wind and the rain,
the mechanical beasts which charge down
the concrete pathways which follow
the directions of the compass to someplace
where you might have been,
or may be waiting –
all these living creatures have been released by Sleep.
And the rain above us that
rains on you and I alike
in this same city,
where the houses are active
and the lights are burning,
like the candle which burns inside me for you.