A Song of Praises

for the gray nudge of dawn at the window
for the chill that hangs around the bed and slips

     its cold tongue under the covers

for the cat who walks over my face purring murderously
for the warmth of the hip next to mine and sweet lethargy
for the cranking up of the will until it turns me out of bed
for the robe’s caress along arm and neck
for the welcome of hot water, the dissolving of

     the night’s stiff mask in the warm washcloth

for the light along the white porcelain sink
for the toothbrush’s savory invasion of the tomb of the mouth

     and resurrection of the breath

for the warm lather and the clean scrape of the razor

     and the skin smooth and pink that emerges

for the steam of the shower, the apprehensive shiver and then

     its warm enfolding of the shoulders

     its falling on the head like grace

     its anointing of the whole body

     and the soap’s smooth absolution

for the rough nap of the towel and its message to each skin cell
for the hairbrush’s pulling and pulling,

     waking the root of each hair

for the reassuring snap of elastic
for the hug of the belt that pulls all together

for the smell of coffee rising up the stairs announcing paradise
for the glass of golden juice in which light is condensed

     and the grapefruit’s sweet flesh

for the incense of butter on toast
for the eggs like two peaks over which the sun rises

     and the jam for which the strawberries of summer have
    
     saved themselves

for the light whose long shaft lifts the kitchen

     into the realms of day

for Mozart elegantly measuring out the gazebos

     of heaven on the radio

and for her face, for whom the kettle sings, the coffee percs,

     and all the yellow birds in the wallpaper spread their wings.

~Robert Siegel