The sunshine doesn’t strike the roof till 8,
but white infills the skylight glass at 6.
Through lids my eyes see day, and then the state
of sleep departs; I stretch to spinal cricks
and move to coffee, email, online news.
I putter and proceed to exercise
my arms and heart and think of what I’ll use
today, intending little compromise.

I plan to be like Beauty in the tale –
my wants as simple as a single rose,
disdaining finery and riches, pale
in lust but focused on my floral goal –
a creature in dilemma black and white,
against the spectral context of our light.