Doe-eyed lids

scrape away

the beads of my dreams,

opening me up to the kind of morning

that mumbles.

The me I know is the dawn of myself,

what is left when I

unfasten from my

sedation,

slow yawns and vertebrae that crack

one by one, in formation.

I am the dew that covers the surface

of the mirror,

and the swipe of a hand

that reveals the unfiltered crispness

underneath.