mine is the morning of room
of open bees and clouds coming in the window
and leaving more lies on the floor
dust particles of cosmogenic stupidity.
climbing through my mind
combing the tears in the rips
for maybe something will come together
in the bliss.
But this is now
and the anchors of hearts touching
and the hopes for heaven
but stealing looks at the ceiling
and the dust around the bulb
not working.