The mornings begin
with birds or tea or in-jokes
between two people who made a promise.
The mornings begin
with a squint and a thumbnail-sized sun
sitting above a house stuffed with friends
made from ancient glitter and fuzziness.
The mornings begin.
The mornings begin
with curtains unsure how heavy they’ll be today.
The mornings begin
with a leafless tree. Dust. A toddler walks in.
The mornings begin.

© Carl Burkitt 2023