I wake up early, at dawn,
My blood leaves
Something undecipherable
On the white wall of Mornings
And the sun salutes
My voluptuous slipping
In the meaningful ”to be”.

I do not need to sleep,
His words
Write love poems under my skin,
And I say, in transport of delight,
"Oh, Mighty God!
How beautiful this new morning is!"

While reading my Dream Book
All the way through this new day
I feel that, in fact,
His soul walks through me easily,
As the light of an angel
Through the new born branches of trees.