I love the wrenching space between sleeping and waking,
Before the sunlight catches the edge of reasoning
And floods the intellect to life.
That moment when the soul is just emerging,
Battered or buoyed, from its nighttime churning
And pulls itself out of its strife.
We are at our most honest in that moment of stirring,
Before the heavy piano-white ceramic doors of logic click, shutting
Out the language of feeling and the heart.
Raw from the nightly battles with our demons burning
But safe in the flutter of sunlight, knowing
The dreamworld ends, control can start.
We are most honest then, in our desires, wishes, wants;
Most naked, helpless, unadorned, open.
Before the light enters our eyes
Before the to-do-lists run up, the “to-buy”s
Before the rules and practicality, the mind clear
Before the self-judgement, doubts and fear.
Before movement reminds us of form
Before the body unwinds from the warm.
When the critic becomes the child
The soul speaks in poetry
Without conditioning or guile.