My mornings love me as I have loved the moon
our time drips between fingers, stirring into tea
honey and bees and the things we’ve gathered together
from gardens of tale and tense, has and had
things I mean to do and meant to say
never have or never intend.
The moon pulls tides and sheets over heads
it knows the weight of me after days and days of lists.
I throw shoulder into dream and storm, studying currents.
7AM waxes through the clouds a season of planning
and I am the bee stirring honey into morning routines
thinking of today and already, of tomorrow.