Before the blinds are parted by early morning light
Or the dewdrops shine back at the sun
I am held in a cocoon of warm light
My pen, my mind, and me
And I start the day like a creature leaving
Hibernation
Heart rate slowed,
Vision dimmed
But with each conscious thought
This common Thursday turns to celebration
As I remember no one else in history
Has ever seen the inside of this room
Or read the same poems and passages
Or used this pen
In the exact way
I am today
And isn't that its own kind of magic?