Good Morning!

I consider the word January as I type it in.

I only need to type the first few letters.   Computer knows and adds the numbers 10, and 2008.  I want to touch those numbers, round in their circles and loops.  There is only one straight line and then a roller coasts and swirls.

What do I want of this day?   What does it want of me?

Maybe we neither one want anything.  The rain is soft, the light.

Maybe we both are the blanket, the side touching skin and the side

touching air, bringing a layer of warmth to both,

the cohesion on water,

on which water-striders stalk and people holy enough can walk.

Maybe we pair there, solid between liquid,

and oh, the fog just moved in closer,

reflecting.

My heart is enmeshed in moist, curious air that’s come like a lover

to see and be a part of me.

This day a bouquet with blooms beyond counting, dating, numbers or time.

This day, mined.