A Simple Awakening* Poem by Morgan Michaels

Birdsong. From no one singer but many.
From under the curtain's hem
singers of unknown hue
because unseen,
canzone spilling over the sill-
a tree of pure gold
casting a silver shadow
doubtless, their oratory.

Another perfect day.Like someone
with plenty of air, kicking up from the floor of sleep
through watery blue into light
they can barely see, I glide,
the distance not so great.
No call to rush. Golden:
that is the morning

I must enter, reluctantly.
Sleep was nice and full of visitor fishes
who vanish when you try to touch them
or obligate them in any way.
But this is the novel day-
time to prove the past or tool the future.

You, who summon me to breathe your empyrean
and watch my passage through fathoms
from above and smile neatly
as I break, exhausted, through the top
look-I am more than for it.
Look, I am awake.