February 8, 2014 § 1 Comment
In the morning the winter is trying hard to remember a bird song.
In the morning the world stands still and waits for us to jump on.
In the morning we eavesdrop our heart beating, our blood running, feel our breath over our lips. Our small planet in orbit.
In the morning we stretch our limbs to the places we want to travel to.
In the morning it’s our truths that wake us up.
In the morning his words, her hair, his hands, her smile and how the light erases them.
In the morning we know other people’s dreams.
In the morning we’re lost and found.
In the morning all the poems we’ve read are street names in the town we live.
In the morning we’re never lonely. We still have ourselves.
Tagged: tweets, twitter
Been following you on Twitter. I enjoy your posts and now your longer offerings.
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Notify me of new posts via email.
« No Shortcuts
Three Stories »
You are currently reading Three Kinds of Morning at I was not born in English.
Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.