Waking

It's morning
The sound of the space heater reduces rough edges.
The light of the monitor brazenly boasts.
My dream of a swamp, a porcupine, and a foot cramp
fades. Our cat rolls upon her broad back.

The pressures
of timewithGod beckon; the urgency of
allteacherwork knocks.

Yet here is space; a blank slate for letters
an acknowledgement of will, life,
and a brief path which winds.

I loiter in the morning to stare sleepily
at the birds flying across the lake, of
which I just did mentally create,
to stretch and to stumble back
to being. I accept the cold air
hitting my face and the coffee
mug granted. God will wait.

Life must slowly accept the actuality
of the wake.