Any Time

in the good of the morning,
I arise to find freedom from
the day and its inevitable rejoice,
regret, ransom, reprise, rigs and routine. 

laying there in curtain-cracked sun,
I smell newness and the air [of potential],
so I expose my chest 
and the heart buried beneath skin and sternum.

soaking in the something
that has no name,
the nothing that has not happened,
knowing that is a wonderful way to wake the day.