To Sleep, To Dream

On weekday mornings, I rise and 4am. This morning said rising was a very difficult task. Sleep, sleep, my kingdom for some sleep. It’s only 7am and I’ve already crafted my day’s poem.

Kitchen Table by Paul Cezanne

First to Rise

The kitchen bulb
hanging like a pear
from the ceiling fan
drops its light
on the beige linoleum,
splotching the floor,
a incandescent yoke,
as the coffee pop grumbles,
the dog breathes deep
her sleep, and the dark,
slowly, seeps back
beneath the oven.


4 thoughts on “To Sleep, To Dream

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