A New Day

by Ken Sanes

I usually spend the night at home,
where I can sit by the fireplace
and tell my children about the world.
After that, I sink into a deep sleep
and lose myself in a jumble of dreams.
But that is only an interval, a break,
which seems like it is outside of time
until the sun comes up in the morning
and I find myself awake in a new day.
That’s when I become a witness to life
and breathe in the crisp morning air
as birds rise and fall in rays of light,
and everything is distinct and very clear,
and plants emerge from the rich earth,
and people start another day’s work,
managing or trading or forging tools.
That’s when I witness my own life, also,
as I lose the last wisp of my dreams,
but still hear the cry of living things,
and take my place in the newest of days,
and offer up hymns of qualified praise,
and thank the world that I’m alive.