To glimpse in an early morning sky painted cerulean,
Venus, the Morning Star, and I know,
if nothing else is certain, today the earth is rewed
to herself, committed to rhythms
and processes we humans take for granted,
greening as she is around edges
of slumber soaked minds
while the bulk of humanity jangles
in a falsely-lit biome of busy-ness, sounds
and lights assaulting fragile systems regenerated
during nighttime hours spent dreaming,
psyche plodding through desires
and suppressed terrors while the mind lurches on
in command, it would seem,
of the exhausted vessel scrubbed and polished now
to a showroom shine.

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