ROUTINE
Every morning, coming out of sleep into the stark surprise of
day, having roamed all night outside of myself in the empty
familiarity of dreams, I must put my self back into myself.
Before I get out of bed, almost before I blink my eyes. There
is a moment at first light, as I am about to do this, poised
between an emptiness and the not-yet-full, when I am no one.
In these few seconds, no one has his entire day.
no one opens his eyes and listens
no one stumbles downstairs
no one takes in the news
no one eats when he is hungry
this will be repeated throughout the day
no one cleans himself and heads to work
no one works
no one works till after dark
no one goes home tired
no one passes the time for a few hours
a friend of no one calls sometimes
no one has his accomplishments of the day to recall
no one is ready for bed
no one sleeps and may or may not dream
and if he does dream may or may not remember
no one's body stirs as the night pales away
no one is willing to wake
no one must become himself again
but for a moment before he does
no one is no one