You’re not real in the early light.
The body fades. The mind expends
Its withered cages.
You float longingly towards the sky
Or are hewn like bulwark to the grass.
You eat apples in the blue effluence
And rig the morning rain
To carry your sleepy understanding
Out into the blooming waves
Of brightened birdsong.
The last delirium from the night’s passage
Dips its hand into your coffee,
And you chug what remains of darkness:
The bat-like charges,
The flickering bits of snow.
At this time you lift your hand
And remove the occultations of the sun,
Take great serpentine bites from its flaming center,
Digest them in your mythic body,
Excrete the tidal-break of dawn.
Seth Jani currently resides in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress (www.sevencirclepress.com). His own work has appeared throughout the small press in such places as The Foundling Review, The Hamilton Stone Review, Hawai`i Pacific Review and Gravel. More about him and his work can be found at www.sethjani.com.