A cup of tea stands steeping in the sunlight.
My morning ablutions are less about cleansing and more about awareness.
Replenishing fluids that I’ve released in the first piss of the day, the body adjusts itself to the light and the upright. There’s no reason not to be a decent morning person, especially when the sun is streaming in so brilliantly. Such light is poetry, and the dust particles floating in and out of it are punctuation.
Words and letters give order and structure to the day.
The camera can capture things too, later conveying them in another sort of order.
The order of image and chronology.
The cadence of time.
The shifting gaze.
We sip from the lips of cups,
captive liquid held aloft,
and only the sun sees as it happens.
Watched by the light,
we turn the day over again.
