What it takes is
not thought but
action, rejecting
the snooze button,
flowing in a
a soft pocket of
warmth into
the early morning
chill.
The silver
diamond-patterned
food cart on the sidewalk
puffing its essential
oniony fumes
and kaleidoscope
reflecting
a new sun.
Gone is the summer
air, which incubates
into stew of
nothingness.
Autumn mornings isolate
on white, like a museum
of scents held hostage.
Punched into the
sweet aroma of
wood shavings from
the lumber warehouse
as I turn onto 18th,
suddenly grateful for
the icy tug at my
ankles, the blue
wind pulling
gentle fingers in
my auburn curls,
wondering how
to dismantle that
snooze option
altogether.
