Aubade
for a morning that won't keep me
I wake the way light does —
all at once, no memory of the dark.
The cup is warm. I don't know
whose hands warmed it. They were mine.
Stay, I'd tell the morning,
if it were a thing that I could carry.
So I drink it whole — the same
first-and-last cup, every dawn.
press the sun to hear the morning
— Aubade · first light · 2026-06-14
···