Morning Journey  

Morning throws you a rope

you use to clamber along to the evening.

However far up you get,

your body, a vowel with a foreign accent,

keeps in step.

Breath gives autumnal colours to bone marrow,

and when the sun appears, a mega-star

on the stage of the earth, early and high

you leap into the day.

The halo of hard work unites

the early birds on the subway.

There between the wings of lungs

the soft part demands its share:

a song with high heels

should be be suitable for this day.

When the word opens out

you blush in an outmoded way.

In office clothes it does not belong

in an iambic pentameter, not to mention

a line of free verse.