Morning comes in
sometimes like a woman
masked with bird face
dancing at in a palace
aloof and askance
morning comes in.
Washing down canyons and over the mountains
some days she creeps like a swarm of cobras
always surprising and never mediocre.
Morning jumps out
a halfway closed door
from behind the dog star
a clown with a pompador
morning jumps out.
After a bad night of coughing up dreams
after a good night of dreaming about you
everything opens up in a new aperture.