7:24 a.m.

(It's a poetry kind of day, so here's one I wrote a couple months ago)

                                                                                                                                              
7:24 a.m.

The grass is dead

Frozen solid

It is hard and brittle like shale

Cracking beneath my feet

Lumps and dips and valleys

petrified under me

I am alive

But even my breath turns granite grey

Heavy in the marble air

And I think

Maybe

The whole world

By unanimous decision

Is stone today

And I overslept

Rushing

Missed the memo

Cosmic sticky note

etched in the corner of my eye

A Reminder

That Today

We are Collectively Asleep

But the Words bubble up inside of me

big words

With the space of galaxies between them

Like continents

Each word

is

An island

I'm tapped into the spring of the universe

Drawing from the wealth of our

million words unsaid

Stone?

Stone is dead

I hear

I see

I breathe

I feel

I am

too much to be stone

So on I walk

The only living thing in a mausoleum

With a burning heart

To stave off the welcoming void