The birch is asleep under the moon,
But will waken on the morrow
Because it enjoys playing
With the sunlight and wind.
The spices are asleep in their cabinet,
But dream of blending into one color in the mortar.
They live to surprise the nose and tongue.
The books are asleep,
But in the moments before sleep
They smiled at the thoughts they had in store,
The graceful phrases to delight the eye and ear.
My heart is asleep.
But keeps pumping for the joy it feels
At waking next to you,
At watching you make coffee
And talk of your dreams,
At the mystery of how inert matter
Learned to love and caress.
September 5th, 2010
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