Mornings Are Reborn

i do not like to think that
mornings are broken
like fragile white porcelain
like eggshells and glass figurines
and wine glasses

i like to see a morning reborn
dressed in light
on a pedestal of green grass
coming out
from the shadows of the tall mountains
touching the skies
regal, and fresh and cool,

i like myself to be just that
reborn
blank and still wanting to live
a life that is full
alive and like the arrival of
my morning
i like it be silent like
cat's feet
on the carpet.