The Place that Knows You Not

In the morning it is never the same -
the way the light falls and turns to what is missing,
sometimes misses, sometimes finds.
The streak of yellow almost blinds
my morning eyes, still adjusting to
the place that knows you
not.

Every day I dream up new ways
to only love that which makes
me kinder.
Still, I struggle. Still,
the morning comes and demands
something magnificent.

I never come through.