The morning’s light
convinces the leaf
on the top of the tallest tree
to stir and unfurl, a green page
opening to the beginning.
revealed inch by inch beneath
the slow crawling stripe of pale
eggshell, not so much a color as
an absence of dark.
reanimate in the room’s
waking as you turn back to skin
and blood from the paper of
story and the ink of dreams.
climbs the weary staircase,
leaving shreds of shadows behind
the mailbox and the lamp post. Sleep
greets your closed eyes like an old
friend who never finished her story.
Top photo: Bigstock