i'm not a morning person

so it is odd
my insistence on writing them  
but i imagine  
 
they are this mythical place  
where the world  
turns a glorious page
the smell  
of coffee &clarity wafting
from downstairs
no schoolday clutter by the front door
 
early is bright here
breakfast is warm  
washing hung
dressing gowns are courtesy
here we have tea &time to speak
&want to
without snapping twigs  
between our eyebrows
 
i tell you  
i miss you
now the mall is more fun than singing  
"the song that doesn't end"
in the kitchen  
with me
&our by 'n' bys seldom cross  
 
but you look free today
breeze floating through the window
laughing with your sister
drinking coffee &clarity  
like a grown-up
ready to dare the world
&all its pages
I am settled
focused
haven't toppled
anyone's towers of cards

so this place must be
a morning  
or something