5ish a.m. We’re both up,
listening to the surf below us,
while just outside the early birds
begin yakking above the whoosh
of waves.

This is not our time of day.
I have no idea why we’re awake.
He says he’s waiting for sunrise,
the day’s first pinkening of cloud
out there beyond the horizon,
see if there’s a photo to be made.

I awoke in the dark with words
coursing through my dreams,
ones like twittering birds that
disturbed my sleep, though
I could not discern the random
syllables.

Still, something pulled me,
as it the divine often does,
to open the magic lid, call up
the blankness with its blinking
cursor, put fingers to keys.
No thought. Just type.

Oh, look. I see the barest bit
of color in the dove gray sky,
a flotilla of clouds sailing north,
a majestic tall ship of cumulus
leading the way

into this grace-full day
that has once again
been given to us.