Most in need of love at simple dawn
when birdsong carries far. I awake from
a brief dream where we were north of the lake
in some stream with a turtle. I roll into
a stack of books that tumble to the floor.
To taste your kiss would be my morning coffee,
to see you open your fair eyes at dawn
is like watching the bright and rising Sun
bring love to every land. A terse aubade
is made by a ceiling fan, all my clothes
slide silently on wood floors. When you rise
to meet the day, I have no image of
love that suffices besides you. The way
you sit up in the bed and covers fall.
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