Rise up like bread dough, not like a revolutionary.
Something inside pumping life into a package of skin.
Dreams from the night before coded into the waking of ankles, knees, hips and low ridge of rib.
Rise up like a back float going nowhere, not like a desperate paddle for shore,
Punching at water that will never know it was punched.
Stare skyward in mornings while the ant nest, kicked by result-demanding gods,
Scurries to make reason of a morning just like yesterday’s.
Rise up like a lower lip reaching for a lover’s upper.
Chin upward, small noise of breath,
Day begun softly.
Not a fight for better, just a meeting with what’s given.