This morning I am back to the sun, back from seadraft and thunderstorm. I wonder if I will find the songs again. I wonder if I will find a rhythm. This month there are five workshops, one training. one series of interviews for another workshop. Can there be rhythm in so much doing? Can there be spaciousness? Can spacious have a bassline of its own?
This morning I rise into poetry; I miss your morning calls. I have to water the garden, it takes almost two hours before I can get here to the page. The dog holds her ball in her mouth and faces the sun, eyes closed, breathless with joy and readiness. I want to start my day that way.
This morning there’s nothing I can’t do. I’m all song and story, I’m in the newborn apples falling from your backyard tree, I’m in the wilting zucchini leaves, I’m in the spreading mint. Let me be the undercurrent inside your body, the thread of longing that curls itself in and around the mechanics of you. Let me turn you over from your sleeping place. I am already so awake. Let me fit my palm along your heartbeat, then down.
This morning I am just these words. There’s a cooling teacup, filled notebooks, the sounds of industry from blocks away. In front of that noise is the birdsong. I take that into my body first. I want your heart here behind me, beside me, I want your heart beneath and belonging. The tomato plants are heavy with fruit, wilting in the heat, overripe. Abundant, their globes bright red, bursting. I recognize the weight of so much to share, to feed. The metaphors are overly obvious and I want to put them all in your mouth.
This morning I am a morning song. I filter my longing through all the other voices. We speak across time, across the country, and urge forward the language of this desire. We are all momentum and mouth. This is for a Monday. Let us have our hunger this week. Let it drive us into what we cannot know. Let it drive us to open all the broken doors. Let it lay us down in the evenings, weary, aching, and ready.
(What is your morning song today? Give yourself ten minutes, and set down whatever words might come.)