sitting at a window

looking outside

before the day runs into itself.

and it’s not particularly gorgeous

or spectacular, there’s nothing fancy

about this seat, or my hair, or my naked

unmade-up face, my thin eyes—

in fact, the barista looked at me sympathetically

as I rubbed my eyes and said,

“caffeine, you need caffeine don’t you”

and I laughed because coffee will always

be honest, spare no feelings—

but today I appreciate this

because I want to feel as much as possible

the infinite non-continuum of uncensored emotions and daydreams;

the hope, possibility, impossibility, failure, victory, and

every winding disjointed path in between those mountainous words in

a life that gets so filled with life that it splits open like the

sky when the clouds will roll back and we’ll see that

all along there was something hidden, there was a mystery

just waiting to happen, and we weren’t crazy after all to believe

or to rest our half-smiling daydreams beside ordinary windows,

planning, building, thanking how and when they’ll come true.