Before the Waking

She opens,

Like a flower

In early morning,

As the sun comes up

Unaware of the coming storm,

The rain clouds

That gather,

On the horizon,

Waiting to push over,

With the wind change,

As it surely must,

It is the way

Of things.

But she exists

For such times.

A promise

Of spring,

And the chance

To bloom in peace,

Gathering strength

From a milky sun,

Filtered through

Heavy curtains,

Hung, to keep

Out a night time

Light that bleeds

Through uncovered

City windows.

She misses the little

And great plough,

The seven sisters,

Replaced

By the sparkling lights

Of a thousand cars

On the highway.

Shooting stars,

Never meant to wish on.

She borders dreams,

Drifting, effortlessly.

Slipping in and out

Of her head

She recollects childhood,

When the city

Was a far away galaxy.

A supernova,

With the power

To draw her in.

A black hole

Of voracious appetite,

Hungry for souls.

There might yet,

Be a way back,

If only she could find it.

If he smiles

When he wakes,

And takes her

In his arms,

Like the first time,

It will be a good day.

She will forget

This half lit reverie.

But the signs

Were not good,

The liquor bottle

Lay on the bed,

Empty.

A damp brown stain

On the counterpane.

A crystal tumbler,

Broken on the floor,

The tiny pieces

Catch the light,

Twinkling like

A ground frost.

Maybe this is

The time to go,

In this momentary

Early morning warning,

Before the waking,

And the breaking,

Of the storm,

Once more.