The Poetry Project

Matthew Morse

Morning Ritual 

Black coffee at dawn,
13 solar systems,
My foot trembles. 

Mind whitewashed in
Yellow light out the window. 

Serenaded by a bird or two.

Quench as nameable taste
As musical flow with riddles
And, I’ve seen atoms dance like dust – 

Past participles quench to ascend
First as motes
Or land spreadin’ out so far and wide 

Then as waves of vibrating colors – 

The understory, a joyful noise.

Likely and loosely pulled in
The frazzled sidewalks cope
Thank the sun
Burst the given ground
Yesterday was now found

Work from Obtuse Angles, Tentative Skies, Awkward Chops with Edmund Berrigan