in the belly of Morning

sometimes my dreams arrest me
holding me by the wrists deep in the
belly of the Morning, i use her ribs as
rungs to climb out – i hear the wind sleeping
in her lungs – she opens her eyes and the Sun
flung out the first bloody pinks and reds
of dawn – flowers twisting their faces
to look into the pond above our heads, the Sky –
clouds beating in his chest, blocking out the
starlight, Night takes flight – her
shadows curling up in the pocket watch of
Father Time

____
© Brianna – Tiny Fawns Writings

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