You are a creature my tired feet are limping to capture,
an awakening on the horizon as luscious as the sinking sun,
bright and empty as the moon and her sad face,
watchful eyes that haunt the evenings.
You are alive on the fabric of my dreams,
restless and tasteless and billowing
with every shifting turn, you are the uninspired awakening
that comes with coffee roasts and egg yolks
glistening and orange and breaking onto toast.
You live in the fractured moment between almost
and impossible, which is more weight
than you can carry. You leave bits of yourself
in yesterday as I stumble toward you, breathless.