If you’re not an early riser
you may not get
the daily Good News
I’m often positioned to receive:
how the world
is purified during the night
by dutiful angels who wash
every object, and sweeten
the atmosphere by their breath.

And then, slowly, silently
the sun pops up,
round jovial fellow
in a red flannel pajama,
to serve us another day.
Its body is also somehow an eye
that winks and sends pink rays
to each of us individually,
filtering them through tree branches.

When the cool morning breeze,
perhaps also angelbreath,
kisses my skin all over
I can only wish you were there
to feel what the words can’t say,
how these caresses dispel
all fear and doubt as if this
is the first day of Creation,
which in a way it is.

Never mind how
that same friendly sun
can scorch by the time it reaches
the top of the sky. I’ve known
a lot of people, too, who are
that way by noon.

If you get up at first light,
you too can get in under
the whole compelling narrative
that the world is going to hell,
and you can remember that
all day no matter what.
The secret awaits.