Daybreak
Morning lifts as the sun dials itself over the horizon.
The usual suspects appear -
coffee, meds, breakfast, Hell, Heaven, the point of it all.
There was a dream about a murky future,
or being in the wrong place, again, and realizing too late -
the usual litany of night time tropes filtered
through every mistake I ever made. The weather is changing.
Fronts, troughs, gales, blizzards, El Ninos are on the move.
They've all seen the forecast. They see it coming too.

Noon
The sun, finally high enough to shorten shadows, is a ball of wax
in the blue bowl of sky, clouds are pasted far off across the horizon,
biding their time. Chemical reactions in my brain are working.
The usual daily miracle - repair, recovery, fortification.
Today is a bud of promise, like yesterday, and tomorrow if it comes.
Is it odd to refer to a "usual miracle?" But then I've never been
brushed with the divine breeze. Still, things are happening that
cannot be explained, things that will count long after today has bloomed.

Night
Days close early where I am. The sky is burnt orange and purple. The warm
air brushes my skin, a soothing scented elixir of season and climate.
On long nights in summer cities blaze away under blank stars. In the
small towns and rural valleys curtains close, doors lock, and dreams circle
where only miracles can flourish, deep in a midnight sea, a place where
everything that happens seems to matter, a place where imagination is fate.