the morning,
newborn, yawning and stretching
jaw snapping, closed around my outstretched hand
god-like, wanting, waning, waiting
I carry treats in my pocket
for the dewy fur of the first,
for the wet patches of grass
where it sleeps
for the tightly shut blossom
where it thrives
and the high branches
where it rustles to life
shaking like a dog out of water
shaking like my head
when I see what I've become
in the glass of a forest lake
tree-tops illuminated golden,
forest floor a dark cave,
my self a shelf to keep treasures on
books and trinkets and a forgotten piece of chocolate
melted in the sun
fingers sticky as I reach for the covers
and only find moss
forgetfulness, wish fullfillment, a long dream
a rubbery snout and coarse pelt
nudging me in the right direction,
up and out of bed
onto the sunlit carpet