It can be dark, dark as night.
It can be thick, and damp, and endless.
And you can be sitting there, in the dark in the cold
crying into your bowl of cereal, aching for a new life.
Then an hour later you might sense a brightness coming in, through the corner of your eye.
And when you turn toward the window you’ll be startled
at the miracle of daylight
from a horizon you had forgotten about, because you were reading a book. Because you were drying your face, and wiping your nose, and thinking about Brandon Flowers.
Because you had nothing, nothing whatsoever to do with that sunrise—
that golden shining—that sweet caramel apple sun,
in the first place.