I still can’t tell why it is called ‘morning’
shouldn’t it be called the ‘arrival’?
To have dissolved through time
coursed through space
navigating sopor mazes;
the cloudscapes,the mountainous dreams,
the pockmarked nightmares
and sleep-breaks like speedbumps on life’s highway?
My neighbour’s car won’t start
even while everyone is far gone –
logging ‘Zs through the interchange
Says his car is insomniac and may be the best watchman,
the neighbourhood never had.
Call it the arrival,
the car has eased its decelerator
greet yourself arriving
at your own dooryard,
greet yourself arriving at your own mirror,
and listen to the spray of water in the shower
saying; Come here. Stand. Breath- You’ve just arrived
at the venue,
of the event titled ‘life’.
Check the post bag,take stock
of the love notes, voice notes
and notifications piled up
while you were enroute home.
You will stand again,
au naturel,in your full Adam
and love the traveler who was your self.
Breathe in. Breath out. Reeve your engine
with exultation and a scream of joy
with your face to the ground
and lithurgical chants,to the Maker
Who’s pleased watching us arrive.
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.