Sometimes in the early morning
when the light through my eyelids
is still pink,
I think I am anywhere but here.
Depending on the day:
my childhood bed,
a hotel room in Santa Cruz,
a sleeping bag, a tent,
my brother’s down comforter,
after I have wandered down the hall
and found my place on the cooler side
of the mattress,
I nudge the pillow next to me
to remind him it is time to get up.