My morning mind
is the mind that craves for coffee
as its first unformed thought of the day
that watches the light before the sunrise
burn up the skies with beauty,
that sits on a chair with a good book
open to anything it might say
and not thinking, but playing,
it stumbles upon universal truth.

My morning mind is a big black cat
lazily stretching and perhaps purring
and looking intently at nothing at all,
listening to familiar house noises
it being, in fact, the house.

My morning mind wants to
take in
pace out
hear the symphony alone
watch how everything changes
while doing it again again
every day.

My morning mind guided by music
and sunshine on absent-minded
runners’ sweaty faces and
deep joy in a bartender’s expression
whose coworker’s telling a joke,
belongs to the moment,
and always has been.

It’s just me
who vanishes in time
in keeping with
my morning mind.