5 O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING
Midnight stars, thrown like glitter
across the night, disappear into the
pre-dawn blue of sunrise.
I drink coffee at my kitchen table.
Devil’s Ivy crawls on my butcher’s block
table like early morning desire crawls on
my belly. I content myself with aloneness,
assume the posture of a ready scribe:
I exhale the staleness of night,
stretching out upon dawn’s desire.
My pen retrieves from slumber-visions
the hidden language of the heart.
© Alice Parris