Someday Morning

Mine eyes arise
to the Someday morning light.
I do not know when I am
and his arm
across my chest subsumes
any sense I may have had of where.
I am tightly wrapped in my head,
my sheets, and some ephemeral worldview.
Someday is the atheist's sabbath,
no one day any more holy than the rest.

The first experience of each day
is rebirth by radiation piercing
past the thin flesh
which hides one sixth of oneself.
That I am changed is evident.
With each breath I exhale some
dead part of myself, an exhausted
vestige of yesterday's person. I have had
enough of that body. I am happy to
pass it on, not because I must but because
one man's trash is another's life-sustaining
treasure. And this is why I am never afraid
to take the next breath. No death is so
life-affirming as my own.

(copyright a(scetic)verse, February 7th, 2009)