I wake on an unextraordinary weekday,
light as air,
full of posture,
breathing freely. Stretched
and stretching.

Take in the darkness of the morning,
the fur of my dog,
the cold foot/warm foot paradox,
the shuffling of socked feet on tiles a floor below. Kick
out a leg from under the covers, place
my hands on my stomach,
my chest,
my neck. I am present. I am waking.

Living
can be as simple
as waking up
and realizing your present self
deserves a moment
to continue
being here.

Living is not always so easy.
Living is sometimes a night too whispered,
a book too boring, a hand too callused.
But when it is light,
it is everything.

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