Stepping into the Day
you hate to swing your legs out from the night’s fray
to press your feet onto the steady hardwood floor
and step into the dark field of the day
four earlier lives of cellular memory on edge under its sway
in the night’s darkest hour your turning, sleepless heart at war
you hate to swing your legs out of the night’s fray
just before dawn, thoughts take shape in your warm bay
of breath; strange happenings stand in the bedroom door
and step into the dark field of the day
you mourn the passing numbers on the clock’s display
tip-tapping counts of one, two, three, four
you hate to swing your legs out of the night’s fray
biography across your wrists as you pray
over your shoulders and into your want for less, for more
and step into the dark field of the day
damp skin despite the rising heat of the day
night is broken into pieces, scattered to the floor
you hate to swing your legs out of the night’s fray
and step into the dark field of the day
A villanelle from Workbook #13 “Songbook of Confessions.”