Getting There
I wake with words tangled in my hair,
my mind opening to light as the dark recedes.
Thoughts scatter in every direction
until morning routines settle in:
feed the dog, a gift of coffee for my wife—
Greek yogurt, a sandwich for me.
check blood sugar, drink Metamucil, pee,
weigh myself— 193 minus the usual three.
Each act measured in half‑minute beats,
a metronome ticking the sacred rhythm of today.
It rushes in my ears,
pounds in my chest—
and I thank the sleep that carried me,
grateful for the day’s percolating poem.
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