It is not yet dawn
but the night has waned
and I’m in that crepuscular purgatory, 4:55AM
sleep heavy on my eyes but fleeting behind them
So I lie awake, asleep in one, in all moments I have
lain like this:
When in a basement room in Genova I woke with a start and made applications to a university in Vancouver
When at fifteen on the dusty cement floor of a classrooom in Machakos I slept awake, my head on an expedition bag
When I awoke to a Florentine hum, a distant headache of too much Chianti (if there ever is much) chasing sleep away
In this way, with the light snores beside me, I lie in all forms I have before
and think of all the morns that are true and yet to be,
and I’m grateful.