For the first time in many, many years (dare I say decades?) I pulled out my high school poetry notebooks.  My best guess is that this was written around 1982, when I was sixteen.  


Slow awareness dawns.

Wisps of troubled dreams,

Are pushed aside by a weary hand.

Light penetrates the deepest unprotected depths

Leaving her naked for a moment.

She quickly closes up with a yawn,

And rubs her eyes.

Then pulls her face into the morning mask,

Already chosen.

Lazy summer day.



A day in the life begun.

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