Morning Heart (After Rowan Williams’ “First Thing”)

In my last steps of dream, I am running,
carefully conscious of each footstep,
prayers in sync with my hesitant freedom.
Steps unfold as sun gathers mind up;
day summons up the light to enter, to command.
Yet first the halfway time, the thought
that what the day holds in its hands can hurt
more than night, more than the half-death
of sleep. Prayer holds; dream’s footsteps linger
and patter the day into being. Rise:
the night has not crushed, the sun will not harm.
Unknowing morning beckons.

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