When the morning is conjured by a good witch
it’s full of green things seeking light
and me seeing photosynthesis as a miracle
and seeing miracles everywhere.
There’s endless cacao tea and the old dog
basking in my presence as though I’m her light.
Small things will be created on this kind of day:
with words, with colored thread,
with soap and water,
with vagabond thoughts that roam, refusing
to settle down, leaving gifts in their passing.
Breath is easy and at the end, sleep comes sweetly
and says ‘well done you.’