Turn The morning On

TURN THE MORNING ON

Milk-white sky,
a railway bridge.
Someone’s coat
on a window ledge.

Down below,
the buses crawl.
I hear your footsteps
through the wall.

You knock twice.
I take my time.
You say, “Come out,
the day is fine.”

Turn the morning on,
let it shine on me.
I’ve been standing still
where the shadows used to be.

Turn the morning on,
leave the curtains wide.
There’s a little more to living
than a place to hide.

Paper men
with folded eyes
sell tomorrow
in different sizes.

You just laugh
and take my hand.
Draw a doorway
where the billboards stand.

A train goes by.
You call my name.
The street looks different,
though it’s still the same.

Turn the morning on,
let it shine on me.
I’ve been standing still
where the shadows used to be.

Turn the morning on,
leave the curtains wide.
There’s a little more to living
than a place to hide.

No grand revelation.
No writing in the sky.
Just an open doorway
and a friend outside.

I put down the paper.
I leave my watch behind.
For once, the morning
doesn’t own my time.

Turn the morning on,
let it shine on me.
I can feel the pavement
moving underneath my feet.

Turn the morning on,
leave the curtains wide.
There’s a little more to living—
let me step outside.

Turn it on…
Let it shine…

Turn the morning on.