Ritual Before Daylight
While darkness remains king
a few more hours, you can rise to join it,
sliding from under a flap of blanket
to grope in chilly blackness for yesterday’s
trousers, flannel shirt, crumpled socks
then slippers, all dropped by the closet
last night as you dove into slumber’s arms.
Make your fingers a rake passing over
the bedstand to snag the wire of glasses,
the band of your watch. It’s important
this is all gathered up in silence
so the other, if there is another,
will not wake even if the cat does
thump, jumping to the floor.
There’s enough gray from the window
and greenglow from clock and smoke
alarm above the door for years that
trained your steps along the black hall
at 5am to start some coffee, then
find a favorite chair by the table,
your hand reaching into the corner
for the lamp to light your temple.
There is the pad and here the pen
your inky scepter taken up
to wave, rouse, and usher forth
those subjects from your dream
while they still cavort and disturb
and the world is yours alone
to make before daylight comes.
–Angus Watkins