In the green morning
I wanted to be a heart.
Ditty of First Desire
Federico Garcia Lorca
The clock glares, red-faced and angry.
I roll away in search of a new position, trying to feel my way to deep mystery, but dreams elude me.
When I was a child, I walked in my sleep. As an adult, I slept while awake. I walked, talked, ate, worked, unaware of my surroundings, unable or unwilling to see reality.
I tried different beds. They were too hard or too soft.
Alone, I always felt the pea.
Now I pray for the rolling crash of thunder, plead for a blessed sleep. I crave the joy of waking to the clean scent of a fresh world.
It’s not to be. Not today. Not tomorrow. Or next week.
I shift my pillow and picture a distant green morning.