Against all probability our bulbs have blossomed,
opened their white rooms, given their assent.
I pull myself from your breathing to take a closer look.
It happened overnight.
Outside a flock of birds folds and unfolds its single body.
I start the coffee. Light comes
from impossible directions.
You are still asleep.
I cup the curve of your skull with my hand.
Light rises on the flame-colored bricks.
“Morning” by Kristen Case from Little Arias. © New Issues Press, 2015.