It’s morning in your head. Is it the same morning outside? The same for the robin? The stray dog? How about the refugee? Alright, I’m teasing. Leave phenomenology aside. Let’s say the issue–“morning ness” has to do, not with witnessing, but with capacity–the places you’ve made for the new day in your understanding. The early light is not lonely, nor does it emanate from angels, nor is it strictly about angstrom units. Inside you it’s a Rococo picture frame of competing interests, a design for optimism or joyless finger painting. Part of memory, part a direction from someone off stage, who loves you when you think hard.
Planet of the Blind 
SK, I read your playful contemplation of the morning shortly after waking up from a night’s sleep that began after putting down Samuel Beckett’s elegant, but equally playful, contemplation of twilight in “Waiting for Godot”:
POZZO: …An hour ago, roughly, after having poured forth ever since say ten o’clock in the morning tirelessly torrents of red and white light it begins to lose its effulgence, to grow pale, pale, ever a little paler, and little paler until pppfff! Finished! It comes to rest. But behind this veil of gentleness and peace, night is charging and will burst upon us: Pop! Like that! Just when we least expect it. That’s how it is on this bitch of an earth.
[Long silence.]
ESTRAGON:
So long as one knows.
VLADIMIR:
One can bide one’s time.
ESTRAGON:
One knows what to expect.
VLADIMIR:
No Further need to worry.
ESTRAGON:
Simply wait.
VLADIMIR:
We’re used to it.
(He picks up his hat, peers inside it, shakes it, puts it on.)
Watching Alan Mandell and Barry McGovern do these Gogo/Didi riffs at the Mark Taper Forum last Sunday was such a completely awesome delight. I almost didn’t go. People have told me over the years that the play was about nothing: Good gosh, it’s about everything! So funny and so horrifying – incredible!
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“a design for optimism or joyless finger painting” — I like that phrase.
I like the whole prose poem.
Good morning to you.
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