The morning — I try to find it with my crayon.  It hides inside the objects. Light glances through all the spaces.  Air from the window winds in quietly.  My tea, its steam, finds the currents.  Could I chase the tea’s steam — all the forms would be revealed.  In the darks of the cloth, like the night sky lightening, and morning in the reflection lands.  In a focused beam on the forwardmost surface of a dark blue bottle a nano-image of the sky outside the window beams hard like a diamond.

Captured in the facet, light, all tight and intensely found.

I watch the colors move round.  Dial of an earth clock set in colors.

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One thought on “Mornings of the Honey Jar

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