there's a certain amount of uncertainty
that comes with waking.
the little death of sleep brings forth
the birth of a new day
and a person i wasn't quite yesterday.
and the day is also filled
with endless births and deaths.
how could i be the person i was when i woke
after an afternoon spent
listening to the lessons of the sun and the soil
and the doves and bumblebees
and the glossy new leaves of the pear trees?