The other day I fell in love with morning
with cool dark air turning light,
with the quiet ferns and waking birds,
with the departing moon
and the rising sun.
I fell in love with oatmeal,
brown sugar sweetness,
the miraculous explosion of tart cranberries
against the solid, smooth grains
With the way a hard-boiled egg gives way
to pressure,
it’s shell cracking under my thumb
like a round desert of dried clay.
I fell in love with hot tea,
steam curling upwards in dissipating tendrils
spicy heat sending cascading rivers of warmth
into my body.

I sat before my breakfast
and wept
from being in love with the world
rather than afraid of it.