If I were to personify the sun,
I would find myself waking
with a secret companion, hidden
in plain sight. So obvious
that she could be missed by each
of us – especially my spouse,
who is no morning person.
The sun, my mistress rises
before I want to, before
I can even bring my mind
to make sense of the alarm on my phone.
A mistress whose presence is felt
unnoticed until it is missing,
or has gone to bed far too early,
leaving me to watch TV in the dark.
Or I could rise and greet her,
telling her about all of my plans
and dreams and hopes for a day
that is only just beginning
again. Every day another chance
at transformation. She patiently
checks on me through the window and
I sneak out for secret meetings,
thankful for the illusion of warmth
as the gray season begins with snow.
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